


Mending All Things Broken

by Meraad



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, Past Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 54,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8415037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraad/pseuds/Meraad
Summary: Grace Trevelyan grew up at the Circle in Ostwick. The Templars were not kind. Now there is a tear in the sky and everyone is looking to her to fix it. How is a fractured Circle Mage supposed to save the world when she herself feels broken beyond repair?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-edited/un-betaed
> 
> Apologies for errors in grammar/spelling/context.

_Do you think of me when you look to the sea?_  
_I know it's hard to grow when you're pushed to your knees._  
_I know our time will pass, your love it will last._  
_Darling we will never break._  
_Never break, darling._

_To The Sea - Seafret_

 

Cullen had seen the Herald, Grace Trevelyan slip off through the trees not far from the stables well over an hour earlier. She hadn't been wearing much more than simple trousers and a light tunic. He walked along the line of tents, hoping to afford himself a view of where she'd disappeared to when he spotted her. She was sitting at the edge of a sharp drop, curled over something in her lap. Reading? He wondered, as he'd seen her with a brown leather-bound book, all but clutched to her chest, since her arrival at Haven. 

She must be freezing, he thought, slipping into his own tent. He found his warmest, softest blanket, folded it and tucked it under his arm before slipping back out. He glanced toward his troops, saw that they were all continuing to practice. They would break for dinner soon. Cullen had to duck and nearly lost an eye more than once on a branch as he made his way to where Grace sat. 

Opening the blanket, he draped it around her shoulders at the same moment he spoke. “My Lady, you'll catch your death out here.”

She flinched, slapped the book shut and looked up at him. He opened his mouth to apologize for startling her, but he saw true terror in her eyes as she looked at him. But that only lasted a moment before she quickly ducked her head and if it were possible, curled in even more on herself, arms protectively wrapping around the book. “I'm sorry,” her voice was a raw whisper and Cullen's brows drew together. He crouched down beside her, wishing she would look at him, meet his eye, but she turned her head to the side, away from him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he told her, keeping his voice low and even. Hoping to soothe her. “Lady Trevelyan, I apologize for startling you. I was merely concerned that you were cold.” She was trembling. Fear? Or the cold? He wasn't sure. “I'm certain that Flissa would be happy to prepare you some warm tea if you are interested.” Still nothing. He wasn't sure if she was even breathing. “I'll leave you to your book. Again, I do apologize.” Cullen retreated, concern darkening his mood. 

Grace Trevelyan was barely more than a girl. Fragile. They, the Inquisition, was expecting so much of her. They were waiting to hear back from Leliana's messenger's about meeting Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands, but Cullen was beginning to question if Lady Trevelyan was up to the task.

 

Grace didn't move until she was certain that Cullen was gone. She let out a slow, trembling breath. He'd seemed sincere in his concern, but, Templar. He was a Templar, and they were the enemy. She felt stiff, muscles sore from disuse. How long had she been sitting there? She felt frozen to the bone, but he'd given her a blanket. Reaching up, she touched the edge, it was soft. Drawing it tighter around herself, she slowly pushed up to her feet and skirted around the edge of the wall around Haven to slip back inside, hoping she went unnoticed by Cullen and Cassandra.

She wandered inside, holding the blanket close, and thought about the tea Cullen suggested Flissa might make her. But she stopped short when she saw Varric crouching beside the fire. He looked up, offered her a half smile. “You look more than half frozen,” he nodded to the fire, “come warm up.”

Not about to refuse, Grace walked around and sat down with her back to the short wall, and rested her book in her lap so she could hold her hands out to the fire. They sat in silence for a long time as Grace thawed and began to feel less like her bones were made of ice. “You write?” Looking up, she saw Varric looking at her notebook.

“Oh,” she shook her head, picked up the thin leather bound book, and opened it. “No, I'm no good with words. They get all tangled up in my head, nothing ever comes out right.” She flipped to the page she'd been staring at, well, since the events of the Conclave, and held it out to Varric.

 

Varric took the notebook, stared at it, then looked at her, then back to the book. “Damn. These are amazing, do you mind?” She shook her head and he began slowly flipping through the pages. Drawings so detailed he could almost imagine the subjects stepping out of the pages. He found a sketch of a Templar. Well, he assumed there was supposed to be a body in the armor that stood out in sharp contrast to the room around him. Most of the sketches were of the same three people, a woman with long dark hair, and darkly shaded skin. A man, much older, signs of age plain on his tired face. Lastly a boy, likely in his early teens, with close-cropped hair and mischievous eyes. 

Her family? He wondered. He knew that she'd been in the Circle at Ostwick, but her family was of noble blood, and he'd seen what nobility could get people. He flipped to the next page and there was the boy, but this time, his forehead bore the mark of the Tranquil. His eyes were empty, face expressionless. The next page, and this time it was the old man with the mark. Then the woman. Varric didn't want to look anymore. But he turned to the next page and there was a self-portrait of Grace, the mark emblazoned on her forehead, black voids where her eyes should be, her lips sewn shut. He thought of the Saarebas in the Qun. 

It was obvious she hadn't been made Tranquil, he could only hope that her friends hadn't been either. “Grace?” he asked, and held the notebook back out to her, open on the drawing her herself.

“The Templars liked to threaten me. Even though my family disowned me, they wouldn't do anything to outright hurt me. They liked to threaten to have me made Tranquil. Toby,” she smiled, but a tear rolled down her cheek as she flipped through the book to find the smiling face of the boy. “He loved to make people smile. He was so young. They didn't even let him grow up. They took his smile. Then when the rebellion started, they killed him. He wasn't a threat. He was never a threat. I tried-” her voice broke. “I tried to help him, but the Templars took my magic. They wouldn't let me. I held him in my arms.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, unchecked. “Alice and Joseph were at the conclave.” 

Bowing her head, Grace stared at the page that bore all three faces, all smiling. “I read your book, The Tale of the Champion. Hawke sounds amazing. Brilliant and strong. I wish I could be like her. Tell me the parts about her and Fenris are true. That they loved each other, despite everything?”

Varric nodded, then cleared his throat against the sudden tightness. “Yeah, yeah they did.” 

“Good,” she said, then curled up on her side next to the fire, drew the blanket tighter around herself and closed her eyes. 

Varric stood there, keeping watch over Grace while she slept, seemingly peacefully. After a while, Cullen made his way up the steps, he opened his mouth to speak, but Varric held up a hand, and jerked his head to the side. They walked away from the fire, and Cullen realized Grace was on the ground curled up with the blanket he'd given her. “The Templars from Ostwick. Do you know anything about them? Correction, do you know if any of them are still alive?”

Cullen's brows drew together and he shook his head. “I don't-” then he looked down at what Varric thrust toward him. The leather bound notebook. Open to a drawing of Grace made Tranquil.

“They threatened her.”

“That isn't surprising,” Cullen said, resigned. He rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't approve, but he'd experienced first-hand what it was like for the Mages to turn against the Templars. To turn to blood magic and abominations. Varric flipped to a picture of a young boy, marked as a Tranquil. 

“They made the kid a Tranquil and then they killed him.” Cullen tugged at his collar, feeling as though it were growing tighter and tighter, strangling him. “The kid died in her arms and the Templars wouldn't let her heal him.” It made sense to him now, why she was terrified of him. It was completely justified. He easily could have been one of those Templars. Especially after the events during the blight.

This fragile young woman was quite possibly their only hope for saving the world. Cullen took the notebook, stared at the picture of Tranquil Grace. “I'll look into it.” He didn't think himself bloodthirsty, but those Templars had potentially broken her beyond repair, and if any of them still lived, he would see them pay.


	2. Chapter 2

Grace jerked awake, then frantically looked around her. _Where am I_? She thought. _The circle? A locked cell?_ She was covered in blood and ash and she bit back the sob that threatened to escape. She flailed, tangled in a blanket, hit the ground hard and reality reasserted itself in her mind.

 

Haven. No blood. No ash. The small cabin that had been designated as 'hers.' Alone. Pressing her forehead to the cold wooden floor she tried to calm her breathing. The blanket lay half on her, half on the bed and she reached up, tugged it down and held it tight to her chest, curled over it, around it.

 

She had fallen asleep beside Varric's fire, no light filtered through the closed shutters, so she imagined it must be night. Someone must have carried her. Who? Long moments passed, her breathing grew even and she slowly pushed herself to sit up. Glancing around she found her notebook had tumbled to the floor with her. Grace picked it up, pressed her face to it and breathed in the scent of leather and parchment.

 

Her stomach let out a rumble and she pressed a hand to her belly, trying to remember when she had last eaten. If it were late, perhaps everyone would be asleep. But maybe Flissa would still be at the tavern. Grace pushed to her feet and wrapped the blanket around herself like a shawl. She wasn't sure why she clung to it, she should wash it, return it to Commander Cullen immediately. But he had likely already retired with his troops, so it would have to wait until morning.

 

Tucking her sketchbook close, she stepped out into the cold. It hit her hard, sucking the breath from her lungs and making her shiver. She didn't think she'd ever get used to the way the wind cut through a person. Ducking her head, she hurriedly made her way to the tavern. Lights still burned bright, and there was the low hum of voices coming through the door.

 

She began to question her decision as she pushed open the door. _Go back_ , Grace thought. _Before they see you_.

 

Only one table was occupied. She took a step back, panic rising. She needed to go back to her cabin, now. But it was too late, they had spotted her. Her shoulders hunched and she wanted to run but stood frozen as they all looked at her. “Ah, Lady Trevelyan,” Josephine stood with a smile. “Come and join us.”

 

In the next instant, Josephine was leading Grace to a chair between Varric and Cassandra and a big bowl of stew was deposited in front of her along with a steaming mug. “Thank you,” she said quietly to Flissa before she could walk away. Silence reigned over the table and Grace glanced up, caught Cullen's gaze and immediately bowed her head over her bowl. She was ravenous, but she picked up her spoon and began to take small bites.

 

“Our scouts have sent word,” Leliana spoke, breaking the silence. “They have set up a camp in the Hinterlands not far from the Crossroads where you'll find Mother Giselle.”

 

Grace felt the food in her mouth turn to paste and what she'd already swallowed became a rock in her belly. She nodded her head, knowing this was her lot in life now. Fighting demons and closing breaches.

 

“Why don't you let her eat, before you bury her with the details,” Varric said. He was kicked back in his chair, a mug in one hand.

 

To Grace's right, Cassandra let out a sound. “Varric,” she sounded both disgruntled and resigned. “This is important.”

 

“Yes, Seeker,” voice calm and maybe a little patronizing. “But are you planning to have us all riding off to the Hinterlands in the dead of night?”

 

The disgusted sound came from Cassandra again.

 

“Let the girl relax and eat in peace.” A beat of silence, Grace didn't dare to look up. “Tell me Ruffles, you ever play Wicked Grace?”

 

Conversations grew relaxed, and borderline jovial. Grace kept her silence as she took in the moment. Varric seemed to have a way of avoiding tension, guiding talk, keeping it from touching on anything too serious. None of them were friends, she gathered, except for Josephine and Leliana. Cassandra did not take kindly to any teasing words from Varric and Cullen kept staring at Grace.

 

She could feel his eyes. She had forced herself to finish the stew and now sat, mug clutched tightly between her hands. Grace wasn't sure what he was waiting for. Maybe he thought she would begin casting wild spells or turn into an abomination. Eyes suddenly burning, she blinked several times and bowed her head even lower, wishing she could make herself smaller. Vanish into nothing. Mortification flooded her veins as she remembered she was still wrapped in the blanket he'd given her earlier that day.

 

Grace put her mug on the table quickly, desperately needing to escape. The sound of the ceramic mug slamming down on the wooden table was loud and made her flinch. Conversation came to a halt. The chair was too heavy, she couldn't push it back from the table, not quietly, so she sat frozen, one hand still clutching the mug, the other gripping the arm of the chair.

 

“It is late,” Josephine's accented voice said. “Walk with me Leliana.” There was the scraping of chairs on the wood floor, quiet murmurs, then the tavern door opening and closing.

 

“Josephine is right,” Cassandra said, rising from her seat. “Lady Trevelyan, we should leave for the Hinterlands before sunrise.”

 

Nodding her head in agreement, she kept her eyes locked on the mug in her hand. “I know all of this is very new to you,” her voice was soft, even sympathetic. Grace was caught off guard and looked up. “But you are safe here. If there is anything we can do to make it easier on you, say the word.”

 

Then Cassandra was gone and Grace sat alone with Varric and Cullen. Grace glanced at Varric, his hands were laced together on his stomach, head bowed, as if he were asleep. Eyes darting to Cullen, then quickly away. “I should-”

 

“Wait,” Cullen said, his voice low. “Please.” She looked at him again, there was a small smile turning up the corner of his lips. “I am no longer a Templar. You should have nothing to fear from myself, or any one else here at Haven. You will be safe here, I will see to it personally.” He cleared his throat and reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. “If there is anyone we can contact that would make this easier for you. Your family? I know that you were at the Circle, but surely-”

 

Grace shook her head. “They disowned me,” she told him quietly, ducked her head, then reluctantly met his gaze again. “I had two older brothers and a younger one when I was sent to the Circle.” She gave a half shrug. “They didn't want a mage in the family.” She pushed her chair back, resigned. “Thank you, Commander,” her voice broke, she closed her eyes, drew in a slow deep breath and stood. “I know what everyone is relying on me for. I understand the seriousness. I will endeavor to do a better job of controlling myself.”

 

“That isn't-” Cullen stood, but Grace was already halfway across the tavern.

 

“Good night, Commander, Varric.”

 

Cullen stared at the now closed door, brow furrowed, then turned to look at Varric, who quirked a brow, though his head was still bowed, eyes still shut. “What just happened?”

 

“Looks like our Herald might be stronger than we've been giving her credit for.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this is going. There was an idea when I started. But I don't know what happened.

Grace crouched behind a rock, frozen, fear having stolen the breath from her lungs. Templars. Mages. Bodies scattered like trash on the path. She clenched her eyes shut, desperately tried to block out the sound of the fighting. It seemed to go on forever. “Where is she?!” Cassandra's voice cut through the sudden and deafening quiet. 

Looking up, she caught Varric's gaze for a heartbeat – he looked sympathetic. Then Cassandra towered over her, face a storm of emotion. “I'm sorry!” Grace exclaimed, tried to stand, but got caught up by her own feet and landed hard on her back. “I'm sorry,” she repeated quieter. 

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “Mother Gisselle is waiting,” she said before storming off. 

Grace stayed where she was for a few moments longer, then slowly sat up. Solas stood a few feet away. Disapproval clear on his features. “I am sorry.” She stood and brushed herself off before she gathered her fallen staff. 

“Try not to take Cassandra's disgust too personal. She feels that way about everyone,” Varric offered.

“I can't-” she started then bit off the words. It didn't matter. She would have to figure it out. She was the key to closing the breach.

 

That night when they silently made camp, Grace could feel the tension closing around her. She wanted to apologize again. But for what? She thought bitterly. I am sorry I have never killed another living being? The demons that poured from the rifts were vastly different from people. Mages, Templars, bandits and more and she would have to fight them. 

Kill them. 

Tears stung her eyes and made her throat hurt at the thought of what a failure she was in this war. Varric and Cassandra's low bickering grew suddenly in volume. “Come on, Seeker.” Varric said. 

“Varric,” Cassandra said, her tone laced with annoyance. 

Grace crawled into her tent and hoped she'd be able to sleep and that the nightmares wouldn't be too bad.

 

For weeks it continued on much the same as they sought out Horse-master Dennet and set on course to gain his help. Every fight Grace froze. She cowered. Solas didn't even bother to conceal his disdain for her. Cassandra could barely stand to look at her, and even Varric, who always stayed at her side, protecting her during the fight seemed fed up.

He and Cassandra had stopped bickering. The silence over their small group was thick and made it hard for Grace to breathe. Finally, they were returning to Haven. She couldn't do it, she realized. She couldn't lead them in any way. She'd tell them she couldn't fight. She would stay, close the breach, but that was all she could do.

Grace dismounted from her horse, very ungracefully, and let the chestnut beauty be lead away. Her trio of companions were already gone by the time she'd gathered her belongings. The disregard was an ache in her chest. She thought of Alice, Toby, and Joseph. She missed them desperately. Her only friends and now they were dead. What would they think of all this? Toby would think it was wonderful, Alice would want to help everyone and Joseph would likely stand in a corner and grumble about everyone. 

A ghost of a smile lifted her lips at the thought before the pain lanced her heart once again. She was halfway to her small cabin when one of Leliana's people ran up to her. “Herald, you're wanted in the War Room.” 

“Right,” she said with a sigh. “I'll be right there.” It seemed she would be facing them sooner rather than later. She dropped her belongings on her bed, wished she could crawl beneath the blankets and wish away the world. Instead, she headed for the Chantry.

The moment she stepped into the room she knew that they knew. They knew she was a coward and had hidden behind rocks at the first sign of fighting. That Cassandra had taken blows meant for her. That Varric bore a few new scars all because of her. She never had a chance to speak. They bickered about the decisions that needed to be made and piled more tasks upon Grace's shoulders. 

If she had to go back out there, face death head on once more, she'd never make it back. 

“A moment, Lady Trevelyan,” Cullen said, jerking her back into the present. She realized the meeting was over and the others were making their exit.

He knew she'd been distracted, not paying attention. A cold trickle of fear skittered up her spine. She wanted to turn and run, but stood rooted to the spot. Grace felt her jaw tremble and clenched her teeth to try and stop it. 

“Maker,” Cullen rasped out and she looked up, saw him watching her. His face had gone red, but not with anger. He lifted his hands, dropped them and heaved out a sigh. “I apologize, I merely wanted a moment in private with you. I did not mean to-” he sighed. “Perhaps this is a mistake, but I have a gift, or sorts, for you.” 

Grace watched Cullen walk around the war table and head for the door. She was confused. A gift? What sort of gift? And now he was leaving? She opened her mouth, wanting to call after him, but no sound escaped. Cullen pulled open the door and on the other side there was a man. They exchanged a few quiet words she couldn't hear and then Cullen stepped back, letting the other man enter. 

Her lower back hit the edge of the table, though she didn't remember stepping back. The man, with dark brown hair graying at the temples and a short beard, froze, hands held out, palms up. “Gracie,” he spoke softly. “Oh, my little Gracie girl,” his voice broke. 

“Ro?” Grace's voice was a whisper. “Rowan?”

He closed the distance between them, took her face between his hands and she saw the tears in his eyes as he searched her face. Tears filled her own eyes as he yanked her into his chest, lifting her off the floor. Her arms went around his shoulders and she held onto him like a lifeline. She caught movement by the door, Cullen offered a half smile, while rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous habit, she thought fleetingly, before he stepped out of the room and closed the door. 

Rowan set her on her feet again, cupped her shoulders and looked at her from head to toe. “You're all grown up,” he said, voice a little sad.

“Yes, well,” Grace said. She wanted to be happy. She was happy, but she was also heart broken. She shrugged off his hands and walked around the table, putting the heavy wooden surface between them. “Why are you here Rowan?” She wrapped her arms around her middle, tried to keep her spine straight. Her brother, nearly fifteen years her senior, looked every bit of his thirty-five years. 

“I came for you, Gracie, I had to see for myself that you were okay. We heard about what happened at the Circle. Then the conclave.” He shook his head. “So many reports of mages being killed. Then we heard you'd been named Herald of Andraste.” 

Now it all made sense, she thought. That was why he came. “I am not the Herald,” she bit out. “Of Andraste, or the Maker, or anyone.” She ripped off her glove, thrust her hand in front of her, showing off the mark. “I am simply the only person who can close the breach.” She curled her hand into a fist, dropped it to her side. “You should not have come.” 

Rowan's eyebrows pinched together. “You're angry.” He nodded slowly. “I would have come for you sooner if I'd been able to. I wrote to you, I wanted to get you away from that place.”

“Stop it!” Grace threw her glove on the table. “Just stop it! Mother and father abandoned me! Disowned me. If any of you are expecting that the Inquisition is going to do you some favor simply because of a blood-tie, you're mistaken. But feel free to take it up with Cassandra.” Storming around the table and past him, she stayed well out of his reach and shoved open the door.

Cullen stood just a few feet away, looking torn between whether to intrude or not. “Thank you for the gift,” she said. “But I don't want it.” She was halfway to her cabin when she clamped her hand over her mouth in shock and horror at the way she had spoken to Cullen. She wasn't sure if she should feel guilty, or terrified of retribution. In her cabin, she slammed the door, pressed her back to it and slowly sunk to the floor. Tears rolled down her face and she drew her knees up to her chest and held onto them as she sobbed quietly. 

 

Leliana had told her she wasn't a prisoner. That she could leave. Grace knew she wasn't cut out for any of it. She couldn't make decisions that affected so many people. She'd left a note of apology on the desk in her small cabin before fleeing in the dead of night. Would they come after her? She wasn't sure. 

Grace had been traveling for days and seen only a handful of other people. She had kept her head down, as they had, and never spoke. Finding a place she thought would suffice for camp for the night. She tried to decide if she wanted to risk a fire. It was cold, but the fire could lead others right to her. She sunk down to her knees, pulled her waterskin from her pack and drew a deep drink from it. Sound caught her attention. Voices, the sound of metal armor clanging quietly. Three Templars stepped into her view, the low sun glinting blindingly off their armor.

“What do we have here?” one sneered. 

“Please,” Grace breathed. She reached for her bag, willing to offer what little she had in exchange for them letting her go.

The Silence cut through her. The magic that flowed in her veins was suddenly gone, out of reach. She choked, lurched forward, hands desperately grasping at the grass as she watched in horror as they came closer.

They were having fun, she thought as she curled up, trying to block the kicks and hits. They could have easily killed her twenty times over, yet their blades remained sheathed. One Templar suddenly fell backward. An arrow jutting from an eye. Then another Templar went down the same way.

The last man stared in shock, first at his now dead companions, then at Grace. She held up her hand, hoping to block the next blow, but it never came. “You-you-you're the Herald!” he sputtered staring at the glowing mark on her hand. “Maker-” he turned to run when an arrow pierced his back and he landed sprawled over the bodies of the others.

Grace pushed herself up onto her knees, painfully, waiting for the next arrow to plunge into her chest. Her bag. She needed to find it. Needed to get away. If she could stand. She tried to draw in a deep breath, but pain exploded in her chest and she doubled over, forehead pressed to the blood-soaked ground.

A sound caught her attention, footsteps, rustling fabric, soft clank of metal armor. Another Templar? She wondered and lifted her head. “No,” she whispered as she stared at the last person she expected to see. “No,” she said again and gave into the tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meh.


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen moved quickly, placing her bag beside her as he fished a healing potion from his own satchel. “Shh, now, you're safe.” He urged her to sit up enough so that he could press the vial to her lips, she coughed and gagged and he was certain she'd barely swallowed half of it. Her breathing was shallow between her sobs. Carefully he turned her, pulled her back to press against his chest. She was hyperventilating. 

“Herald,” he started, but she slapped at his hands, surprising him. “Grace,” he whispered, lips pressed close to her ear, her hair catching on his stubble. She froze. No movement, no breath. “You are safe.” Her heart was pounding in her chest beneath the palm he had pressed to the center of her chest. “I will not allow any harm to come to you.” She drew in a sharp breath and he grabbed for another of the vials. “Please, let me help.” He pressed the vial to her lips, felt the movement of her swallowing. “Forgive me,” he breathed, closing his eyes. 

“What? What did you-?” She struggled, her movements slow and weak, but she managed to free herself. Only Grace didn't make it far, she sprawled on her back and looked up as he leaned over her. The last thing she saw was Cullen's brows furrowing together.

“I have secured a cabin not far away,” Leliana said as she knelt on the other side of Grace. She sighed softly. “We did tell her she was free to leave.”

“We need her,” Cullen started, then sighed as well. “But we cannot expect her to put herself in constant danger.” 

Leliana gathered the two bags, attached them to the horse she'd brought and then looked at Cullen. “Convince her to come back. We will figure out something. After what I found out about her stay in the Circle, she needs to feel safe.” 

Cullen gathered Grace into his arms as he stood, her long auburn hair tangled with leaves and grass. Blood on her face and hands. He could only imagine her injuries. “And you truly believe I am the best person for this?” he asked her again. 

“You are a former Templar, Cullen, what she has feared most her entire life, and yet she has yelled at you and spoken back to you in a tone that she'd never have dared in the Circle, or even with Cassandra.” 

Leliana took the unconscious Grace from Cullen so he could mount the horse, then handed the limp woman back to him. “Her smart mouth makes me the best candidate?”

Leliana smiled. “Convince her to come back, at least until we get the help from either the Templars or the Mages,” Cullen made a quiet, disapproving noise at that. “Once that is done, if she still wishes to leave, I will personally see to it that she live where ever she would like in safety.” Cullen adjusted Grace in his arms and gathered the reigns in his hand. “Just down this hill, quarter of a mile past the farm, there is a cabin next to the river. I have a few of my men camped out in the surrounding areas, so there shouldn't be any issues.” 

Cullen inclined his head and then took off. He found the cabin easily enough before the sun had fully sunk below the horizon, allowing him to navigate his way inside and start a fire once he had laid her on the bed and wrapped a blanket around her. Once the fire was going and he had the stew Josephine had seen packed warming, he turned to Grace. 

He wondered how long the sleeping draft would last. She didn't appear to be in pain, but he knew she'd barely drank any of the healing potion. Kneeling beside the bed he tugged up the blanket to reveal her feet and was careful as he unlaced her boots and dropped them beside the bed. Next, he painstakingly plucked leaves and grass from her hair.

 

Grace hurt. Every inch of her pulsed with agony. The Templars, she remembered. Cullen. She sat up abruptly, then cried out at the pain that tore through her. 

“Don't do that,” Cullen, who was suddenly at her side, admonished. “Maker,” he muttered under his breath and pressed a vial to her lips.

She remembered all too well the last potion he'd poured down her throat and jerked away from him, ignoring the tugging in her side. She swung her legs off the bed but he blocked her. “Andraste preserve me.” He drew in a breath and in the next moment Grace found herself pinned to the bed, Cullen's face a short distance above hers. “You're going to pull out your stitches,” he told her. She didn't care, opened her mouth to scream, but instead found herself choking on the potion he dumped into her mouth.

Some of it trickled down her throat, but she managed to hold most of it in her mouth. She wanted nothing more than to spit it in his face, and judging from the look on his face he knew exactly what was going through her mind. “Do not make me pinch your nose until you swallow that. It would demean the both of us.” She stared hard for long seconds when he brought his hand up to follow through on the threat, she quickly swallowed. Only then did he release her and help her to sit, propped up with pillows at her back. “Now,” he said rising to his feet. “Was that so difficult?”

Rage flooded her veins. “Considering what you dumped down my throat the last time? Yes!” 

“It was for your own good,” he told her, disposing of the now empty vial. “You were going to hurt yourself.” 

“More like you were afraid I was going to hurt you,” she bit out the words.

“My Lady,” he sighed warily and watched her struggle to get to her feet. “What are you doing?”

“Getting as far away from you as I can.” She ignored the nausea and the fact that her head was spinning like a top and grabbed for her boots.

“My lady, stop this. You are injured. You need rest and food.” She ignored him while trying to tug on her boots. “Lady Trevelyan!” his voice was a sharp command. The same tone he used with his troops. She froze, her face had gone colorless and her boots slipped from her fingers. “Maker,” Cullen breathed out. “Grace,” he spoke gently now. “I am begging you, please just sit down. We can talk.” 

Unsteadily she sunk to the bed, and wanting to give her the power, Cullen sat on the floor a few feet away from her. Grace cocked her head in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“We are talking. I, we, the Inquisition would like for you to return to Haven. Only to seal the Breach. We will figure out a way to get the help of the Templars,” he saw her flinch, “or the Mages. All we ask of you is that you close the Breach when the time comes. But, if you refuse, Leliana has promised to see you in a place of your choosing, safe from bandit, Templar, and all other potential attacks.” 

Grace simply stared at him for long moments. He was in pain, she could feel it. His head and so much more. Stress, she thought. He never slept enough. “If I refuse,” she clenched her hands together in her lap. “How do you plan to close the Breach?”

“We will figure something out.” 

Such a smooth lie, she thought. “I am the only one who can close it.” She looked down at the mark on her hand.

“We will figure something out,” he repeated. 

“Do you happen to have another Herald stashed away somewhere?”

The sound he made was part scoff, part laugh. “That would make things remarkably easier.” Those words were a slap to Grace's already battered self. “Oh, Maker! I didn't mean it like that!” Cullen shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “How could Leliana think this was a good idea? Anyone else would have been better at this than me.” 

“I'll do it,” Grace spoke softly in the middle of his rant. He didn't seem to hear her. He stood up, began pacing around the room, berating himself. Grace watched Cullen, then ignoring the pain in her side she stood up and crossed to him. Doing what had always come naturally to her. The magic danced beneath her skin, it ached to help. He had stopped beside the window, open a crack and stared at it as he continued muttering to himself. 

Soft fingers touched his temple, the magic barely had a chance to start when she saw the look cross his face. Templar. She reminded herself, jerking her hand away. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. Grace didn't know what had happened to Cullen, but she knew he did not trust mages, did not like magic. “I'm sorry. I am sorry,” she repeated over and over, head lowered as she backed away. 

She had forgotten, for one glorious moment, she had forgotten that by rights, they were foes. He caught hold of her wrists and she didn't resist. “I'm sorry.” Eyes closed she waited. She didn't truly believe that Cullen would hurt her. But what came natural to her was something that he greatly opposed. 

“Grace,” his voice was low but she didn't look up. 

“I'm sorry, I never should have-” He lifted her hands to either side of his head. Startled, Grace looked up. 

“You surprised me, that's all.” Grace ached with the desire to take away the pain. “Whatever you were doing, that split second, it felt... nice. I trust you.” She shifted her hands, let the magic hum to life gently. Her arms ached within seconds and the way she stood pulled at her stitches. Cullen caught her hands again, tugged them away. 

“I'm sorry, did I-”

“You're hurting,” Cullen said with a frown. “I am an idiot. You're hurt. You need to rest.” 

“No, please,” Grace twisted her wrists from his grip and caught his hands. “Let me, I'm fine. I want to help.” 

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “You're badly injured.” He tried to usher her back toward the bed, but she wouldn't let go of his hands. 

“Cullen,” she pleaded as she sunk onto the edge of the bed. “It isn't hurting me. Standing hurt. I want to help. Let me help.” 

He stood in front of her, his big hands still caught in her smaller ones. “You promise that it isn't hurting you in any way?” She nodded quickly. “And you will eat immediately after you're done. And stay in bed and rest until you've healed.” 

“I promise,” Grace said quickly. He deliberated for a time before sinking onto his knees in front of her. 

“If you waver, even slightly-”

“Cullen,” she said, gently taking his face between her hands. “I promise, it doesn't hurt me in any way.” he let his hands fall to either side of her on the bed and Grace let her magic flow. Slowly, not wanting to startle him, or make him feel uncomfortable. She watched his eyes slide shut, and felt the tension melt out of him. He leaned forward, his breastplate pressing lightly against her knees as his head sagged. “I will help, Cullen,” she told him quietly. “The Inquisition. I've always wanted to help, but I'm just no good at fighting.” 

Cullen lifted his head, met her gaze, eyes softening. “No more fighting,” he told her, then reached up and placed his hands over hers. “Thank you, My Lady Herald.” 

She scoffed quietly and rolled her eyes. “Please, don't call me that. I'm Grace.” 

“Certainly not. You are someone that the people are going to be looking to, Lady Trevelyan.”

“No.” Grace pulled her hands away and stood abruptly. “Not that. I am not a Trevelyan. Not any longer.” She crossed to the fire where Cullen had the stew warming. “I haven't been a Trevelyan for a very, very long time.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I cannot simply call you by your given name.”

“Why not?” she asked, incensed as he gathered the bowls and helped her dish it up. They sat at the small table across from each other and Cullen tore a large piece of bread in half, gave her the slightly bigger piece.

“It would be inappropriate.”

“Very well, Commander.” She stabbed at the stew with her spoon but didn't miss his frown. “What? I couldn't possibly call you by your given name. It would be inappropriate.” Grace didn't know what possessed her as she ripped off a chunk of her bread and placed it next to his piece. His frown turned into a scowl.

“You need to eat.”

“I am eating,” she said, dipping a piece of her bread into her stew. “Commander.” She took a bite and could feel his eyes on her. She knew she shouldn't antagonize him. She really shouldn't. He didn't say anything for a few heartbeats, then ducked his head and began eating. A little while later, Grace peeked up at him, found he'd eaten the piece of bread she'd torn from her piece and had nudged the larger piece toward her.

Using her spoon she smacked the chunk, sending it rolling into the side of his bowl. “Lady Trev-” She raised her spoon, pointed it at him.

“No.”

“Herald,” he said, and Grace had the distinct feeling he was enjoying this. A thrill coursed through her. It was the first time in a long time that she'd played. They batted the piece of bread back and forth across the table as they ate until finally Grace picked it up and dropped it into his bowl and what remained of his stew. “Now, that's just childish.”

Grace felt the corner of her mouth twitch and ducked her head to conceal the small smile. “My apologies, Commander.”

Cullen sighed loudly, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Grace,” he sighed and she peeked up at him. “You win.” A full grin spread over her face. “But,” he pointed a finger at her. “Only when we are alone. Otherwise, you must be The Herald.”

“Do you promise?”

"I promise, Grace.”

“Thank you, Cullen.”

They finished eating and Cullen tended to the dishes in the river while Grace visited the outhouse. He didn't go far and kept an ear out for any sounds that didn't belong. The soft glow of the lantern appeared as she opened the outhouse door and Cullen watched her make her way toward him. Grace shivered as she came to stand beside him and he reacted immediately. Pulling off his cloak and draping it around her shoulders. “Come, you'll catch your death out here.”

“Just a few minutes?” she asked watching the way the waterfall sparkled in the moonlight.

“I imagine,” Cullen said after a few moments. “That your brother, excuse me, that Rowan, will refuse to leave Skyhold without you.”

Grace's chest felt tight. “Well,” she said with a quiet sigh. “ _I_ imagine that he only came for money, or connection or some other type of reward simply for, at one time, having been the brother of the famed Herald of Andraste. I told you that my family disowned me when I was sent to the Circle. Did you contact him?” The dim moonlight didn't disguise the guilt that crossed his face. “Why?”

“I-” Cullen cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “I wanted to help. I had hoped that maybe you were... mistaken.”

“Mistaken?” She nearly laughed at that. “That I what, mistook my mother slapping me and telling me she had no daughter when I called out for her? Or that I mistook my father sneering at me as he took the money from one of the Templars as 'compensation' for alerting them to the dangerous mage?”

Cullen was silent and she peered at him, felt a pang of guilt. “I apologize, Cullen. I know you meant well. You couldn't have known. But any interest from the Trevelyan's, isn't out of love.”

“In that case, I am very sorry. I'll see to it that he is sent away, immediately. I never meant to cause you discomfort. In fact, I wanted to ease it. None of this has been easy for you.”

“For what it's worth,” she said, offering a hint of a smile. “I appreciate the thought.”

Cullen gave her a half smile, just a faint curl of the lips. She wondered about the scar. Wondered about many things. “Would you tell me,” Grace spoke softly, afraid to raise her voice and lose her nerve. “Why is it that you are so distrustful of mages? Is it to do with your Templar training, or is it-” she turned her face to look at him and felt chilled to the bone.

The smile was gone, his face had turned to stone, or it might as well have. A hard mask with rage and anguish dancing in his eyes. “My time at the Circle was not pleasant. I do not wish you discuss it.” He spoke through gritted teeth and Grace realized she had greatly overstepped her boundaries.

“Of course.” Grace nodded her head. “I apologize, I shouldn't have asked, I am sorry.” She drew off his cloak and thrust it into his hands, then quickly walked back to the cabin.

 

By the time Cullen returned, Grace had stripped back down to her leggings and tunic, wrapped up in a blanket and tucked herself into the corner of the room on the small cot with her sketchbook.

“What are you doing?”

Grace flinched, silently cursed and stared at the dark line through her drawing. “What does it look like?”

“You need to sleep in the bed.” He pointed to it as if she didn't know where it was.

“This cot is too small for you,” she kept her voice calm, even though her emotions were warring inside of her. Concern for what he'd been through, anger that he wouldn't talk to her, and fear because he was still a Templar who hated mages.

“Then I will sleep on the floor."

He was being impractical. Grace gave her head a shake. “Why? This cot is fine for me.”

“Because you are injured! You need proper rest in a bed.”

“ _You_ need proper rest in a bed!” Her voice rose in volume. “When did you last sleep Cullen? Not in a chair, hunched over your papers! That doesn't count! You are exhausted. It is why your head always pains you. I know there is more to it,” she let out a soft sigh, trying to calm herself down. “I understand you don't want to talk to me, to tell me. But don't for one instant think that I'll just stand by and allow you, or anyone else in the Inquisition for that matter, to cause themselves harm.” The pencil in her hand snapped and Grace huffed, tossing it and her sketchbook onto the small table by the cot. “I'm sorry. I am tired, please, Cullen. At least for tonight, just take the bed.” She twisted, ignored the pulling in her side and turned to lay with her back to the room, to Cullen.

“I was at the Ferelden Circle when it fell to the Mages. So many became abominations. I watched them torture and kill my friends. They tried to break me. Nearly succeeded. After that, I was full of rage and believed every mage was dangerous. I let that prejudice blind me for many years. Forgive me, Grace. I am still trying to be a better man and to do what I can to make up for my past decisions.”

She heard him shuffle away, quiet in his movement as he banked the fire and rifled through his bag. Grace clenched her eyes against the tears. She understood now, why he felt the way he did. Who could blame him? She'd heard whispers about it. How could she ask him to trust a mage, when she herself couldn't bear the thought of putting any trust in a Templar? Her side throbbed, a dull reminder of why she hated the Templars.

 

The next morning Cullen was up before Grace, fully dressed with breakfast ready. “You didn't sleep,” she said sadly.

“I slept,” came his short reply.

“The circles under your eyes tell a different story.” She sat at the table, poked at her food and sipped her tea. “I imagine you want us to head back to Haven today.”

“Only if you are up to the journey. I would like to check to see how your side is healing after you have eaten.”

“It's fine,” she said, making a token effort to eat the eggs in front of her.

“Did you, were you able to heal it?”

Grace looked up, saw his brow knit together. “No, I can relieve pain, maybe heal a paper cut, but that is where my skills end.”

Cullen gave a short nod. “We'll wait a few days. See how you are feeling.” Then he went to the small desk, sunk into the chair and began riffling through papers and scratching down notes. Grace finished her tea, but didn't finish the eggs. She felt dusty and dirty, imagined she was caked with blood and grime. But the river would be ice cold and she didn't have the energy to gather any for a bath. She imagined Cullen would do it if she asked, but then she'd feel guilty, because she imagined he had no desire to be stuck here with her. Hadn't he said as much last night? Ranting about this being Leliana's idea?

Quietly as she could she gathered her notebook, a fresh pencil and made herself a little spot near the fire. Cullen sat hunched over the desk, intent on whatever it was he was reading, his brow was creased and he reached up, rubbed at his forehead. She ached to cross over to him, lay her hands against his head and help him. But despite his willingness the night before, knowing what she knew now about his time in the Circle, she'd do all she could not to use any magic around him.

 

Cullen's shoulders were beginning to throb and he realized he'd been sitting hunched over for quite some time. He straightened, glanced over, wondering what Grace was doing as she'd been silent for some time as well. She sat on the floor near the fire, hunched over the sketchbook in her lap. He was reminded of the drawings Varric had shown him. Herself as a Tranquil. He tried to imagine her as a Tranquil and the thought unsettled him.

He couldn't deny that he had agreed that those who could not control their magic, who were a danger to others or themselves, should be made Tranquil. Never to be used as a punishment, or a means to keep mages in-line. Couldn't there be another way? He wondered. Something other than a sudden emotional nothingness? Cullen thought of her batting the bread across the table at him, of the way that she'd yelled about him not sleeping. He glanced down at the papers on the desk, then back at Grace who looked up at the same moment and flushed a bright pink. She jerked her head back down and slapped her book shut. If she'd been made Tranquil that sort of reaction would never have happened.

“I should change the bandage on your side,” he said, getting to his feet.

“It's fine. I can do it.”

His face flushed. “Right, of course.” Tending to the injury the first time had been one thing. She'd been unconscious and he had been focused only on stitching the gash along her side. Caused by the point of a boot, he thought and was glad the men who had hurt her were dead. “I'll just-” he stopped, she had gotten to her feet and stood before him, feet bare, in dirty leggings and bloodied shirt she'd been wearing when she'd been attacked. “Maker.” He expelled a loud breath, crossed the room, grabbed one of the bags that had been sent along with him. “Clothes,” he said, holding it out to her. “Josephine and Leliana saw to it. I apologize. I don't know what-” she stepped forward, took the bag.

“Thank you.” She held it to her chest and looked down. “Would you, if it isn't too much trouble, fetch a small basin of water? If there is Spindleweed by the river, could you also gather some? Just one would be plenty.”

He'd broken her, he thought as she stood with her head bowed, her soft queries. His outburst the night before had fractured the delicate balance they had been carefully crafting. While it didn't seem that she was fearful of him, it was clear she felt uncomfortable. “Of course,” he told her, inclined his head and gathered a pail and a small basket before setting out for the river. Cullen wasn't quite sure how to fix it, and wasn't entirely sure why he was so concerned. He'd enjoyed her smiles and teasing. It had made him feel younger and lighter than he had in years.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of 'I don't know what the fuck I'm doing' ....
> 
> But Rowan won't leave me alone, and both Cullen and Grace are painfully awkward.

Cullen had gathered the water and herbs Grace had requested while trying to work out how to fix what damage he had done. On his way back to the cabin he saw one of Leliana's messenger's jogging toward him. “Sir,” he handed him an envelope and then took off again. He glanced to the small covered area for the horses and decided he'd tend to them while Grace cleaned up. Give her some privacy. 

“Grace, I have-” the words stopped abruptly. She stood beside the cot, the that had held the healing supplies on the table. Her shirt was gone and she wore only a dark band of fabric around her breasts. Her hair was held up with one of her pencils stuck through it and looked at him, startled. “Maker,” he slammed his eyes shut, held out the pail and the basket of spindleweed. “I'm sorry, I should have knocked.” 

Grace said nothing. She stared at him for several long moments, then glanced down at herself and flushed. Grabbing her shirt she quickly pulled it on and held it shut at her chest. “It's safe to open your eyes,” she told him, turning her back to him. “You didn't need to knock, I should have waited, I knew you wouldn't be long.” She heard the thump of the pail and basket being set on the table. Trying to fasten the buttons quickly, her fingers fumbled over them. Then froze when she heard the soft sound of the door shutting. Turning she saw she was alone. Nothing she seemed to do was right. 

Sinking to the edge of the cot she thought of her friends again. If only Alice had lived. She would have been good at this. Quickly, Grace tended to cleaning herself up as best she could with the pail of cold water. The spindleweed helped ease the ache in her side. Changing the bandage she saw the clean line of neat stitches over the gash. A boot? She wondered staring down at it. 

Had she thanked him? She wondered. For coming to her aid, for saving her life? No. She had yelled at him, teased him. It was obvious he didn't want to be there. Despite his claims that he trusted her, she knew he couldn't possibly. They'd return to Haven immediately. She decided, gathering her things and tucking them into her bag. 

Stepping out of the cabin she came to an abrupt halt when she saw a man, one of the scouts, leaning against the fence post, eyes coming to rest on her. He quickly stood at attention. “Herald,” he said, with a little salute.

“Where is the Commander?” 

The scout looked away and Grace had a sinking feeling. “He, uh, returned to Haven, my lady.” She didn't understand why it hurt so much to hear those words. “Someone else is being sent to stay with you until you're fit to return.” 

“Nonsense.” Grace hooked her bag over her shoulder and made her way toward the stable. “I'm quite alright. If you'll lead the way, we can return at once.” 

“My lady-” he broke off when she gave him a hard look. “Of course, my lady.” 

“The Commander left some of his things inside,” she nodded to the cabin once she'd mounted. “Would you gather them?”

He looked uncertain, but then moving quickly, jogged to the cabin, dashed inside and back out as if he were afraid she'd leave without him. 

Every inch of her body ached by the time they arrived at Haven. She left her horse at the stable and caught Harrit staring at her. She inclined her head and he looked away. Very well, she thought. And headed for her little cabin.

“You're back.” Cassandra stood in front of her, towering over her. 

“I'm back.” Grace looked up at the woman's unreadable face. She didn't say anything for several moments and Grace finally sighed. “What?” It came out sharper than she'd intended. But she ached. 

“Why did you leave? You know you are the only hope we have of closing the breach.” 

Guilt struck her hard. Selfish, she thought. “I'm not a fighter, Seeker. I spent the majority of my life in a Circle, under lock and key with guards. I'm here. I will help close the breach when the time comes. But please, I beg of you, please don't ask me to kill.” Grace stepped around Cassandra and continued her trek to her cabin, hoping she wouldn't have to face anyone else just yet. Of course, she wasn't that lucky.

Solas, Varric, and Leliana were standing together, and there would be no avoiding them. Straightening her spine, she drew in a deep breath and walked up to them. “Leliana, may I have a moment.” 

“Of course,” she inclined her head and they broke away from Solas and Varric.

“I'm sure I don't need to tell you that I'm returning only to close the breach. Cul- the Commander said you would see that I would have someplace to go once this is all over.” 

“Yes,” Leliana told her. “I learned some of the details of your time at the Circle. Cruel is too kind a word.”

“Thank you, I ask that you see to it that the Trevelyan's never find me once this is done.” The look of mild surprise that crossed Leliana's features actually surprised Grace. Leliana knew everything, or so it seemed, how could she not expect her to want nothing to do with them? 

“If that is what you wish.” 

“I do. Also, one more thing. A suggestion. I know that you are all still arguing about who to go to for help. Mages or Templars. I would suggest the Templars.” The words were razors in her throat. The very thought of going to Templars of help...

This caught Leliana off guard too. “You would wish us to ask the Templars for help?”

“People have less of an ingrained fear of Templars than Mages. Mages are dangerous and unpredictable. Whereas the Templars are then to protect. I'm sure most of the people at Haven would be far more comfortable with the Templars as opposed to the Mages.” 

“But you-”

“I won't be here. Once they arrive, we close the breach and I will be gone.”

Leliana frowned but nodded. “If that is what you wish,” she said again.

“Yes, please. Thank you, Leliana.” Grace made it back to her cabin without further incident. She sunk down on the edge of the bed and heaved a big sigh. Maybe she'd lie down for a little while. Maybe she could just sleep until they had it all figured out. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the blanket and went to tug it around her shoulders. She paused, realized it was the one Cullen had wrapped around her the day he'd found her sitting in the snow. 

Grace knew she'd asked one of the women who washed the laundry to see that it was returned to him. She'd have to do it herself, apparently. Gathering what little energy she had left, and ignoring the pain in her side, she folded the blanket and headed back outside. Quick steps. The sooner it was done the sooner she could just sleep. 

“Grace,” she whirled around, Rowan was jogging toward her. “Grace, please.” 

“I don't want you here,” she hissed. “Leave Rowan! Go back and tell your parents they'll get nothing from me. I want nothing from them except to be left alone!” She was yelling and people were gathering. Why couldn't she just have some peace and quiet? 

She spun around and started down the steps when he caught her arm and pulled her to a stop. “Fuck, Gracie.” He touched her jaw and she didn't understand the look on his face. “Who did this to you? Who the fuck hurt you?” 

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. How bad was it? She hadn't looked in a mirror. She caught sight of Cullen stepping through the crowd and took an unintentional step back. Rowan turned, saw Cullen and took Grace's reaction to be one of fear. Before she could react he was on Cullen. 

“You hurt my baby sister?” 

“Oh, Maker,” Grace whispered, the blanket slipping from her fingers. She lunged for the two. Cullen was on his back and Rowan sat on his chest, his fingers curled around the fur of his mantle. 

“I didn't-” Cullen's words were cut off by Rowan's fist.

“Andraste's tits!” Grace yelled and slapped her brother across the back of his head. “Grow up, Rowan,” she snapped, then gripped her side at the flash of pain. 

“Grace, are you-” Cullen's words were cut off when Rowan turned his eyes back on him.

“You stay away from my sister.” 

Rolling her eyes, Grace decided the best way to distract her brother and get him off of Cullen. “Oh,” she whimpered, staggered and then let her entire body go limp. The landing hurt. She imagined all the new bruises she'd have. But it did the trick. She lay there, feigning unconsciousness and heard the murmurs and voices of concern. She wished there weren't a crowd.

Great, she thought. More reason for them to dislike her. “Gracie.” A hand cupped her face, stroked over her cheek. Then someone was on her other side, a big hand slid into hers, squeezed. 

“She was attacked by Templars,” Cullen said and she realized he was who held her hand. “She should not have returned yet, we were keeping her someplace safe where she could heal.” His hand tightened a fraction and she wondered if he knew she'd faked fainting. But how could he? “She also asked that you be sent away. What are you still doing here? I do believe I informed my soldiers to see that you were removed, by force if necessary.” 

This time, Grace squeezed, just a little. Unsure what she was even asking for. Rowan had come to her defense when he'd thought someone had hurt her. The Rowan she remembered had always been there for his siblings. Her memories with them held nothing but happiness. 

“I will not leave until she hears me out. If she still wants me to go after that...” Rowan let out a heavy breath. “Then I will. But not before. She needs to know the truth.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More words! Can we say slow burn? Grace and Cullen will get their act together eventually.

If the two of them didn't stop bickering soon, Grace was certain her shivering would give away the fact that she was very much not unconscious. Finally, Cullen lifted her into his arms and began walking. She could hear Rowan telling Cullen to put her down, “give her to me,” he said.

“Absolutely not. Last I spoke with her, she was willing to have you removed, by force, if necessary. Until she tells me otherwise, you are to stay away from her.” 

“She may hate me,” Rowan's voice was quieter, farther away. “But she's afraid of you.” 

Grace felt Cullen falter, tense and sigh quietly. “She knows I would never hurt her.” The words, Grace knew, were meant for her. He didn't say them loud enough to carry back to her brother. Grace felt the change in temperature as they stepped into what she suspected was her cabin. Her bed was soft at her back, and Cullen pulled away. She didn't move. Kept her eyes closed as she heard his boots on the wooden floor. “It's safe to open your eyes, Cassandra dragged your brother off somewhere.” 

“How did you know?” Grace asked, pushing herself up. She winced at the pain and caught Cullen's deep frown.

“A sister. Mia. I'd like to think I wouldn't have fallen for it like Rowan did, but I imagine I would. She would be laughing about it.” He grabbed the satchel that had the healing supplies in it, someone must have brought it to her cabin, she thought. He dug through it then came up with two potion bottles. “You're exhausted.” 

“I'm fine,” she told him, taking the healing potion but refusing the one that would help her sleep. 

“You shouldn't have come back here. Scout Harding was on her way to meet you. She would have stayed until you were fully healed.” He towered over her, that damn flask in his hand. 

As if she needed the reminder that he had left her. Just left. Without a word. Grace didn't know why his leaving hurt so much. She looked down, staring at the flask in her hand. Suddenly, Cullen was crouched down in front of her, one of his big hands reaching out to lightly rest over hers. “Are you afraid of me, Grace?” 

She blinked in surprise. “What? No.” She shook her head, regretted the quick action. “No,” she repeated, looking up to meet his eyes before focusing back on his hand, clad in the soft leather glove, covering the both of hers, clutching the stupid healing potion. “I think I was.” She shook her head. “No, I know I was. When I first came, I was terrified. But I was terrified of everyone. Of everything. Sometimes, I think I still am. But I know you would never intentionally harm me.” 

“Even though I used to be a Templar.” 

Grace slipped one of her hands free, covered his, clasping his hand between hers. “Especially because you used to be a Templar. What you told me about your past,” she saw the dark look cross over his face. “I know, you don't like to talk about it, don't want to be reminded. I won't mention it again. But I just want to say, I don't believe you would ever punish someone simply because they were born with an affinity for magic.” 

“I could have. I nearly walked a very different path, Grace.” 

Oh, how she ached to help him. She could feel the pain rolling off him in waves. Why? Was it guilt? Was there more she didn't know? Her magic burned to help. She could feel it, dancing beneath her skin, itching to come out. “I think you need this more than I do,” she said, pressing the flask into his hand.

Startled he shook his head. “What? No. What are you talking about?”

“You hurt.” They held the flask between their hands, neither willing to take it. “A compromise? I'll take the sleeping draft if you take this.” 

“No,” Cullen said. “Absolutely not. You'll take both and I will go fetch some food for you to eat. You hardly touched breakfast, and I imagine you haven't eaten since.” 

“Have you?” He broke away, leaving both flasks in her hand. He waved off her question.

“You need to rest,” he said. “I'll be sure that Rowan is kept away until you're ready to speak with him. On your terms.” 

He was halfway to the door when Grace found her voice. “Why did you leave? You just... left.” He stopped and dropped his head forward. Rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Someone else would be better, anyone else really.” And then he left. Closing the door softly behind him. Grace blinked away the sudden burning of her eyes. She didn't know how much time had passed before there was a soft knock and Flissa poked her head in. 

“I've brought you some hot tea and a little something to eat.” 

“Thank you, Flissa. You're too kind.” 

“Oh,” the woman blushed deeply. “It was nothing. The Commander asked that I bring you your meals until you're feeling better.” She set the tray of food on the bed beside Grace and took a good look at her. “Oh, dear, you are quite banged up. But I imagine most of that is just dirt, or at least I hope so. I'll fetch you some hot water so you can clean up after you've eaten.”

“That isn't necessary, Flissa. Thank you, but I can visit the bath house.”

“You'll do no such thing. You're injured. You'll stay right here.” 

And because Grace was too tired, and in too much pain to argue, she left Flissa fuss about her. She ate, and drank the tea. Cleaned up with warm soapy water and changed into clean clothes. A glimpse in the mirror revealed the bruise that covered half her face. At least, she thought, it didn't hurt. But finally, once Flissa was content tucking Grace into her bed, she took both the healing potion and the sleeping draft. 

 

Grace may have stayed locked away in her cabin longer than was absolutely necessary. Flissa and Adan were the only two people who came to see her. Flissa was sweet and Adan berated her, saying he had enough injuries to take care of, he didn't need to add hers to the mix, again. She would have to face them all again, at some point. She wasn't looking forward to it. Tossing back the blanket, she glared at it. Cullen's blanket. The one she'd been trying to return when Rowan had stopped her, had ended up back in her room, once again. 

“Stupid blanket,” she muttered. Considered burning it, but it was such a nice warm blanket. Grace felt personally offended that it kept ending up back on her bed. Cullen didn't want it back? Because of her? Because maybe some magic had somehow rubbed off onto it? She rolled her eyes at the thought. “You're being stupid, Grace,” she muttered to herself before climbing out of bed and getting dressed. She would have to face them all again eventually. Rowan too. The truth, he'd said. And just what was that truth? She remembered clearly what had happened the day the Templars took her away. Her brothers hadn't been there. But her parents had most definitely wanted her gone.

Pulling her hair back into a braid she drew in a deep breath and stepped outside. It was quiet. A few people glanced her way, but that was all. She'd track down Cullen or Cassandra, they would likely know where to find Rowan. To her surprise, she found Rowan without any help. Sparring with Cassandra. She was kicking his ass. Grace couldn't help but grin. Cassandra looked as if she was barely breaking a sweat, but Rowan's hair was damp with perspiration, and oh maker. He was flirting with her. 

Grace found a rock and sunk down onto it so she could watch the two, but the movement caught Rowan's attention. “Grace,” he said, and Cassandra took advantage of his distraction. Rowan landed hard on his back, Cassandra's practice sword at his throat. Rowan grinned up at Cassandra. “I've always liked a woman who could take me down.” 

“Ugh.” Cassandra turned, but Grace saw the hint of a smile on her face. “Maybe next time you'll last longer.” With that, she walked off. 

Grace covered her mouth with her hand, trying to conceal her laughter, but it abruptly died when Rowan got to his feet and started toward her.

“Gracie,” he started, then drew in a breath. “Grace. Are you willing to hear me out?”

She looked down at her hands, fingers black from her charcoal sketching. She'd had little else to do while locked up inside her room. “I know they sent me away. Mother... she hit me.” 

Rowan closed his eyes, pain washing over his face. “I know. I didn't know then. But... they sent us boys off to the market. When we returned, you were gone. They wouldn't tell me what happened. They said that you'd vanished. You'd run away, been kidnapped. Been killed. The story changed over and over again. It was years before I found out the truth.” Rowan stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and hunched his shoulders forward. “I did try to get in touch with you. Wrote to you. Money only got me so far.” 

Grace didn't know what to say. Could it be true? Her heart ached with wanting. “Alexander and Caleb?” 

“They're safe. They know the truth. They miss their sister.” The three of them were all barely a year apart. Alexander, then Grace and finally Caleb. “There is also a little girl who would very much like to get to know her Aunt.” 

Grace looked up, startled. “You have a … daughter?” 

A smile turned up the corner of his mouth. “I do. She reminds me of you.” Rowan reached out, stroked a finger over Grace's cheek. “Looks a bit like you too.”

“You were flirting with Cassandra,” Grace accused. “You're married and you were flirting with her!” 

The smile turned sad. “No, Nora's mother died in childbirth. I didn't have the chance to marry her.” 

“I'm sorry,” Grace said, reaching out to grab her brother's hand and squeeze. 

Rowan shook his head. “Don't be. You've... Maker, what you've been through. When I heard about the uprisings in the Circles, I was desperate to find you. I thought in the chaos I'd be able to somehow find you and take you away and keep you safe. I got word that you'd been at the conclave. I was on my way there when I found out about the explosion. I thought I'd lost you.” He squeezed her hand and she saw his eyes shining with tears. “I know I can't make up for what you've been through, or what our parents did. But Gracie, no matter what, you'll always have a home with me.”

“Where are they now?” she asked, curious.

He looked away, drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Dead.” 

Grace was surprised by the blow to her heart. After what they had done, to hear they were dead, she shouldn't care. But the news hurt. “There were good times,” she whispered, feeling a tear roll down her cheek. “Before the magic came. I remember there being good times. We were all happy.” 

Rowan tugged on her hand gently, drew Grace to her feet and pulled her into his chest. “There were good times.” 

“I hate them,” her voice broke as she pressed her face against her brother's chest.

“I hate them too,” came his rough reply against the top of her head.

“I am so scared, Ro.” She clung to him and felt his hand stroke down over the back of her head. “So many people are depending on me and... and what if I can't do it? What if I'm not strong enough?” That was the root of it, wasn't it? Why she'd really run away. Terrified of the fight, of having to hurt people. Kill people. But also because she didn't think she was strong enough to face the breach and close it, even with help from the Mages or the Templars. Then what would happen? 

He held her tighter, then gently gripped her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “I believe in you. All you have to do is wave your hand at the breach. It closes and you can come home.” 

She let out a wet laugh and wiped at her eyes. “Somehow, I don't think it'll be that simple.” 

“No, probably not,” he said with a grin and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “But I've got your back.” 

Grace looked up at him, really took in his face. The wrinkles around his eyes, the graying hair, and beard. “I've missed you so much.” She hugged him again, as tightly as she could, so grateful for Cullen finding a way to contact him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such easy forgiveness. Rowan so has a thing for Cass. Because how could he not? She hands him his ass and he'll say thank you and again.


	8. Chapter 8

Cullen stood in the midst of his soldiers as they sparred, but his focus was solely on Grace and Rowan. Obviously, she had forgiven him. Which made him feel a great deal better about his part in contacting the man. Rowan Trevelyan had already been well on his way to figuring out where Grace was, Cullen had simply expedited the process.

The two were talking and Grace was laughing. Actual joy lit up her face. She was radiant. The longer they talked the more expressive she became. Gesturing wildly with her hands as she spoke, a deep belly laugh then at one point body-wracking sobs. Cullen wanted to go to her, out of concern, he told himself. To be sure Rowan hadn't done something to hurt her. But she'd waved off Rowan, wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and shook her head. They had sat in silence for a time before she spoke again. 

The sun was sinking lower in the sky, the soldiers broke for supper and still, Grace and Rowan sat talking. Cullen tried to ignore the pang in his chest. What did he have to be jealous of? He wasn't jealous. He was happy that Grace finally had someone she could speak with, was comfortable with. Happy that she looked rested and healthy. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, willing away the headache he could feel coming on. It would be a bad one, Cullen thought. He should eat. But the very idea made his stomach roil. To bed, then. He was making his way toward his tent when he heard footfalls crunching in the snow. “Cullen.”

“What?” his voice came out far harsher than he'd intended. He turned, Grace had frozen, hand outstretched. She stared at him for a second and he thought she'd turn, flee. She should. But instead, the surprise on her face softened into concern. 

“You're hurting,” she murmured. “Let me help. I'll go fetch one of Adan's potions.” 

“I don't want it,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don't need any help.” 

Grace's head cocked to the side, her eyes full of sympathy. “Don't need any? Or maybe you don't think you deserve it?” She stretched out her fingers, then clenched her hands into fists. “Please, Cullen,” her voice wavered.

He spun on his heal, headed for his tent. He could hear her following, several steps behind. The second he was inside, he ripped off his gloves, then began pulling at his armor. He was shirtless by the time she slipped past the flap. She just stared at him for several aching heartbeats. “Oh,” she breathed and held her hands behind her back. There were scars. Faint, but they were there. Scars left by magic. 

Cullen regretted his hasty decision. Had he been hoping to scare her away? Still, she stood there and he was full of shame and regret. 

“I could make you some tea. Spindleweed and embrium.” Still, he didn't say anything. What could he say? He was an ass. She backed out of his tent and he sunk heavily onto the edge of his cot. He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. Grace was far too kindhearted. How could she be? After what she had endured. 

There was a quiet rustle, he glanced up to see Grace, with a tray in her hands. “It's just tea,” she told him, keeping her voice quiet as if she could tell he felt as if his might explode at any moment. “And some toast. You should eat something.” As she set the tray down beside him he realized she was wearing a pair of thick mittens. His brow furrowed and he found himself reaching for her. 

Grace jerked her hand away from him, holding them behind her back again. “What? What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” she said too quickly, taking a step back. Some new injury? He wondered. Then he was on his feet, catching her arm. “No, don't.” Her voice broke, but he'd already tugged off her mitten. Magic. He could see it dancing between her fingers. Flashes of green and blue. Cullen met her gaze, confused. Her eyes were full of tears. “I just want to help.” She curled her hand into a fist, tried to tug it free, but he didn't let go. “But I know how you feel about magic. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Gobsmacked. After everything, she was worried about him. Worried about his feelings toward magic and mages. Ass didn't even begin to cover what he was. She tugged again and this time he let her go. She tucked her hands behind her back once more and looked anywhere but at him. “Please, just drink the tea, Cullen. I promise it is nothing more than tea. No matter how tempted I was to pour in a sleeping draft.” The corner of her mouth twitched up a fraction, despite the tears still shining in her eyes. 

She turned quickly and walked out of his tent, leaving him alone with his regret and self-loathing. 

 

Grace sat at a table in the tavern with Rowan. It was early, and not many people were up and about yet. “You've got a thing for Cassandra,” she said, before shoveling a bite of egg into her mouth.

He gave her a look, then shrugged. “You have to admit, the woman is pretty damned amazing.” 

“You like her.”

“I like her.” 

Grace pushed her plate away and picked up her mug, she held it to her mouth, breathing in the rich scent of the dark tea. “She doesn't like me. I mean, I can't really blame her. She took more than a handful of blows meant for me. I don't think anyone here actually likes me all that much.” 

“Hey,” Rowan said and reached out to her. 

“It's fine. I get it. I haven't exactly made it easy for anyone. The sooner the rift is closed the better. I don't need them to like me.” 

“Grace,” Rowan's voice was soft, she could hear the pity. Why had she said anything? When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? 

“You know, I think I'm going to go-” she stood up, trying to come up with a reason to leave. She couldn't handle the look her brother was giving her. She heard the door open, glanced over as Cassandra, Cullen and several soldiers made their way inside. Great, she thought. A distraction. She couldn't help but shove her hands behind her back. It seemed she couldn't control her magic around Cullen in the least anymore. Wouldn't that be comforting for him?

“You told Leliana you want us to go with the Templars?” Cassandra's voice was loud, and everyone's attention was suddenly on the two of them. Couldn't she have a confrontation without an audience? She silently begged. 

“I made a suggestion.” Grace curled her hands into fists, willing her magic to just stop. Cullen looked tired. But at least he didn't look like he was in as much pain as he'd been in yesterday.

“The Templars. After what they did to you-”

Grace threw up a hand. “No.” She yanked her hand back down and straightened her shoulders. “I only made a suggestion. I don't care who you pick, so long as they can help get the job done. Now if you'll excuse me.” She headed for the other door, wrapping her arms around herself, tucking her hands close to hide the tell-tale flickers of magic.

“Grace.”

Of course. She turned, held herself tighter, and looked at Cullen. “You look like you got some sleep.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes softening, and what was it about that face? She wanted to touch it, trace her fingers over brow, cheek, and jaw. Trace the scar on his lip with her own lips. The thought startled her. “I did,” he told her. “Thank you.” 

“It was nothing.” 

Cullen's brow furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“I never thanked you. For so many things. You saved my life after I ran away. You found my brother. I know I was not exactly grateful at first, but we spoke. I cannot thank you enough for finding him.”

“He would have found you eventually. I just sped up the process. But I am glad you have him.” 

“Thank you,” she said, then turned, determined to get away from everyone, just for a little while.

“Wait,” Cullen called after her, his fingers, bare of his usual gloves, skimmed over her upper arm. “Why did you tell Leliana we should strike a deal with the Templars?”

Grace shrugged as she turned to face him. “Why not? You believe they can do it.” He continued to just look at her, waiting. “People are afraid of Mages. Not that I can blame them. Templars are meant to protect. I believe the people at Haven will be far better off with the Templars, as opposed to the Mages.” 

“And what about you?”

“I've spent most of my life beneath the Templars. This will be no different. Besides, I can't imagine it will take long between their arrival and us closing the breach. Then I'll be gone. So what I want doesn't matter.” Grace walked away, found a quiet place to sit. She pulled her small sketchbook from the pouch at her hip and opened to the page she'd been working on late into the night before. Cullen. Sad eyes, full of pain. Beautiful mouth. She touched the scar, smudging it with her finger. There was nothing between them. Could be nothing. 

Angrily, she ripped the page from the book and crumpled it. Then the one of him sitting and working in the cabin by the river. Finally, the one she'd sketched of him smiling, a half-smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. Grace crumpled it up and threw it as hard as she could. “Let go,” she whispered, flipping past the pages of Alice, Joseph, and Toby. Her fingers sparked with her magic. How long until she couldn't hide it? How long until she had no control left? 

She stopped on the drawing of herself, rendered Tranquil. She'd heard stories about the Saarebas of the Qunari in taunts from Templars. Lips sewn shut. Control rods. Was that better than being Tranquil? Fire licked over the pages and she flung the notebook over the cliff as well. 

 

Rowan sat across from Cassandra, staring at her. Finally, she slammed her fork down and stared back. “What.”

“You don't like my sister.” 

“I never said that.” 

“It is fairly obvious,” he offered casually.

“She is our only hope of closing the breach, but she ran. She is weak.” 

Rowan's brow creased. “You do know she spent the last sixteen years in a Circle, right?”

Cassandra let out a quiet grunt. “Yes, I do know that. There are other mages out there, fighting. But she hides. She isn't willing to fight.” 

“Because she isn't a fighter. She never was.” 

“She needs to be. She will never be safe if she doesn't learn how to protect herself. But she is unwilling to learn.” 

“Do you have siblings, Seeker?” 

Cassandra's jaw went hard and she looked away. “I had a brother.” 

Rowan couldn't help himself, he reached out, lightly touched her hand with his fingertips. “I'm sorry for your loss. But you two were close?” A sharp nod. “I've been trying to find Gracie for years. I can't allow anything to happen to her. If I convince her, would you be willing to teach her how to fight, how to defend herself at the very least.” 

She looked at him again but hadn't jerked her hand away from his. His fingers were a steady, light pressure. “You know how to fight.”

A grin spread across his face. “But you're better.”

“I am,” Cassandra agreed. “If she is willing, I will teach her what I can.”


	9. Chapter 9

The days ticked by slowly. New people had joined them. A strange girl named Sera, a Grey Warden. First Enchanter Vivienne, whom Grace stayed as far from as possible, their views on Templars vastly different. Grace's fingers ached to draw, but her notebook, charcoal, everything was gone. Pitched over the cliff in a fit of temper. What did it matter? She wondered. Drawing had been her escape in the Circle. Her little rebellion. More than one of her sketchbooks had been confiscated by Templars. It wasn't against any rule, per say, but they always had some reason. Maybe she was planning an escape, or maybe she had details of involvement with demons. 

Rowan had bullied her into agreeing to let Cassandra teach her how to defend herself. She knew that she needed to learn. She was going to have to go with them, to speak with the Templars, convince them to help. Grace knew there would be no avoiding confrontations and she was tired of other people being hurt for her. “You're sadistic,” Grace moaned from where she lay sprawled in the snow, Cassandra standing over her. 

“And you'd be dead.” 

With considerable effort, Grace got up, only to be flat on her back again moments later. “I give up,” she said. “The demons can have me. Sacrifice me to the giant tear in the sky, maybe that will close it.” Cassandra was not amused. “I'm sorry,” Grace said quietly. “I'm just not cut out for this.” She stood up slowly. 

“You need to learn.”

Grace held her hands out in front of her, the magic calm today. But she hadn't seen Cullen yet and it seemed to be out of control when it came to him. “I don't have the skill. The finesse. You are strength and power. The way that you move when you fight... that isn't something I can ever do. Passable is the best I'll ever be.” 

Cassandra sheathed her sword and looked over Grace, inspecting her. “You are small. That gives you some advantage. Can you wield any magic?”

A hesitant shrug. “A little fire. Lightning if I focus really hard.” 

“Hm.” Then she walked off, leaving Grace staring after her. 

“Great, thanks for the bruises Cassandra.” She stood there, staring out, past the trebuchets, across the frozen lake. She felt her magic give a sudden flare. Pinpricks racing over her fingers and up her arms. “Commander,” she said quietly and the air seemed to go still around her. A quick glance to her side. Cullen stood there, face pinched in concentration.

“You are doing an excellent job of pretending to be a rag doll for Cassandra.” 

“Curses, you've figured me out. Truly I am a master at combat and I only allow Cassandra to knock me on my ass to hold up my disguise that I am weak and helpless.” Her voice had taken on a dramatic tone and she heard Cullen chuckle quietly. 

“I don't believe for a moment that you are weak, or helpless.” 

“The scar on my side says otherwise,” her retort came out before she could stop it. She flushed and curled her hands into fists as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “How long until we leave to meet the Templars?” She was proud of how steady her voice came out. 

“A few days, a week at most.” 

Grace nodded. “Good.”

“I'm sure you're eager to return to your family.” 

She nodded again, but there was a weight on her chest. Doubt and fear. She wasn't certain she'd ever see them again. “Did I tell you I have a niece? Eleanor, Nora. Rowan says she reminds him of me when I was that age.” Grace smiled sadly. “Hopefully that is the only thing that she gets from me.” She held her hand out in front of her, watched the magic dance over her fingers. “I can't control it, Cullen.” 

Cullen tugged her to face him, took both of her hands in his, held them palms up and watched the flickers and sparks. He looked up at her, saw a tear roll down her cheek. “How can I go back with them, how can I be around anyone I care about when I don't know what is going to happen? Maybe the Rite of Tranquility wouldn't be so bad.” 

“No,” the word was sharp. She jerked her head up in surprise. “Absolutely not. It would erase everything that you are.”

“Maybe that would be for the best.” 

Pressing her palms together, Cullen closed his hands around hers. “Grace,” he whispered. “Please. Tell me you aren't serious. You can't possibly-”

“What are my other options? Move into that cabin by the river? Live the hermits life? Join the rebel mages? I'd be dead inside a week.” 

Cullen shook his head, still clasping her hands in his. “There must be something-” 

Grace smiled sadly at him. “You were a Templar, Cullen. Is there another option I am unaware of? It may not even matter in the end. I have to survive closing the breach first.” 

“I think you're stronger than you give yourself credit for.” His grip tightened slightly. “It is likely you'll have to fight, to protect yourself, at some point. I would keep you out of it if I could-”

“I know. I know I'll have to fight.” Grace wasn't sure when they had closed the distance between themselves. Their clasped hands the only thing between them. His breath was warm on her fingers. 

“Defending yourself does not make you less of a person. Don't hesitate, Grace. You can't. They will kill you given the opportunity. They won't hesitate, so you cannot hesitate.” Cullen reached out, cupped the side of her face, surprising her, but she didn't pull away. “Promise me you'll fight. Don't give up. It could be that once the breach is sealed your magic may calm down. Go back to normal.” 

Grace reached out, the backs of her knuckles brushing against his temple. “You're still not sleeping.” He leaned into her touch, eyes slipping shut. “Promise me you'll sleep. I'll make you that tea again. Let me help,” she whispered. He opened his eyes, brought her other hand up to the other side of his head. 

“I trust you.” 

She let out a little breath of surprise and tentatively let her magic flow. His eyes fell shut and he leaned into her, his hand having slid from the side of her face to rest against her arm, the other still cupping her hand to his face. “I'll fight,” she murmured. “I promise I will fight until there is nothing left inside of me.” A weight on her chest seemed to lighten. She let her eyes roam over his face, committing every detail to memory. She had no illusions that she would live through whatever it was they were walking into. But she would fight. 

Finally, after a long time, Cullen opened his eyes, looked at her. “Thank you,” he said softly. He turned his head and pressed his lips to the palm of her unmarked hand, still tingling with magic. “I should,” he paused, squeezed her hands and then nodded his head toward his soldiers. “Get back to work.” 

Grace looked down at her hand after he walked away. The visible magic seemed to have faded, but she could still feel the heat of his lips against her palm. Going into battle, she would need a staff. Harritt was her only option. She didn't think he liked her. But that was nothing new. With a sigh, she made her way up the incline toward the stables. 

“So you and the Commander, huh?” She looked up, startled, saw The Iron Bull standing there. Cassandra had returned with him from the Storm Coast, but Grace had barely spoken to him. He was massive, intimidating. But he was there to help.

“What?” it came out a squeak. 

“Next time you want to keep one of those intimate moments private, might I suggest you don't do it in the middle of a space where everyone can see you.” 

Grace's cheeks flared with heat. “It isn't like that,” she hissed quietly. “It wasn't-” The entire Inquisition was a gossip-mill. She could just imagine how Cullen would feel about everyone believing there was something going on between them. 

“Sure looked like something.”


	10. Chapter 10

They fought through the Corrupted Templars, Grace even landed a few blows. Her new staff, light weight with a wicked blade at the end. Mostly though Blackwall and Iron Bull stood between her and the enemy. It took everything in her to stand before the Lord Seeker and feign strength. 

He caught hold of her lapels, yanked and Grace knew she was not in the real world anymore. Josephine and Cullen stood before her, unmoving. Leliana stepped around them, knife in hand. _Demon!_ Her mind screamed.

It taunted her, held the blade to Cullen's throat. “No,” her voice cracked and she watched in horror as the demon dragged the blade across his throat. Blood spurted. “No!” Grace yelled. “Not real! Not real!” 

“Not real,” it taunted, now in Cullen's voice, a whisper behind her. She spun, watched the demon Cullen stab her. But it wasn't her. It was something the demon created. But still, she held her hand to her own stomach as the other version of herself, the one bleeding fell to the ground.

“You are not real,” she said, staring into the green glowing eyes of the demon Cullen. “I will not let you break me.”

It grinned. A mockery of the sweet half smile he had given her just days ago. “I won't need to.” 

 

“Why'd you choose to ally with the Templars?” Grace looked up at The Iron Bull, tilted her head back farther, then shook her head and then dropped it forward again. 

“That is what they wanted. Cullen and Cassandra mainly, we needed someone to help us, to help me, close the breach.” He sunk down into the ground beside bail of hay she was sitting on, and they were nearly at eye level. 

“Yeah, but you're in charge. And I hate to say it Boss, but you're petrified of them.”

Grace closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She was so tired. Her head ached still from her little adventure trapped inside her own head. _Cole?_ She thought, wondering if he'd gotten out of her head too. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Nah, Ben-hassrath, remember?” He handed her a mug. “I think you need this.” 

“What is it?” she asked, leery, sniffing it. 

“Something that will help that head of yours. You need to relax.”

Grace drank. Choked. “Oh Maker, that is foul.” 

Some time later, Grace was sprawled out on the ground, her head resting on Bull's massive thigh. She wasn't sure how she'd ended up there, but she thought it had something to do with nearly falling over after her third mug of whatever Bull was giving her. “How's the head?” Bull asked.

“What head? Whose head? Cole was in my head. So was Envy. It killed Cullen and Cullen killed me.” She pressed her hand to her belly where the dagger had gone in, was almost surprised to not feel the handle of the blade or at least blood. She lifted her hand up in front of her face, her magic was a faint flicker over her fingers, barely there. “Saarebas. That is what I would be in the Qun, right? Is that better than being Tranquil? If I were Tranquil, I wouldn't care about what I'd lost, but if I were Saarebas, I'd still be me. Could you get one of those control rods? I heard that's what they use.” 

Bull caught her hand, closed his big fingers around hers. “Time for bed, Boss.” 

“What? But-” Then before Grace realized she was in her tent, tucked into her bedroll. She curled up on her side, knees against her chest and tugged the blanket over her head and began to cry. Grace wasn't even sure why, but she ached. A warm hand wrapped around hers and she lifted her head, tugging back the blanket. “Cole,” she breathed. Not in her head.

“You're tired,” he said, just holding her hand. “You need sleep.” He brushed his hand over her hair, a soothing motion again and again.

“You saved me,” she murmured drowsily. 

“You saved you. I only helped. But I am glad I did.” 

 

The Breach was stable and she was alive. Everyone was celebrating, full of joy and relief. Everyone except for Grace. She watched them, dancing, drinking. She had saved the world. For now. Looking down at her hands, the left still glowing brightly with the mark that closed rifts, her own magic not visible at the moment, but tingling, aching just beneath her skin. So much for it calming down.

She needed to get away. Be as far from the people she cared about as possible. 

“Absolutely not!” Grace heard Cassandra exclaim.

Rowan stood in front of her, hand extended. “Dance with me.”

“I will not.” 

“Too afraid?”

“Ugh.” 

She smiled sadly as her idiot brother clasped Cassandra's reluctant hand and pulled her close. He said something, causing Cassandra to laugh, smack his shoulder and shake her head. “You are an idiot.” 

Grace turned, walking away from the festivities. The courtyard beside the Chantry was dark and quiet. She sunk onto the lone bench and rested her head in her hands. She could still hear the music and excitement and she was grateful for it. It was over. She had done her part. Her magic flared suddenly, and she knew without looking up that the soft footsteps approaching were those of Cullen. Why did it do that? She wondered. 

“Are you alright?” he asked coming to sit beside her on the bench.

“I'm fine,” she lowered her hands, saw the flickering of magic, silently cursed. “Have you seen Cole?”

“The boy,” Cullen make a sound of disapproval. “Keeps disappearing. No one remembers seeing him. I do not trust him, whatever he is.” 

Grace leaned in slightly, nudged him with her shoulder. “He saved my life, Cullen. He only wants to help.”

He didn't reply, and they sat like that in silence for a long while. Cullen reached out, took her hand in his. Her magic flared brighter and she tugged at her hand, but he didn't release it. “You could stay,” he said, voice quiet. “Here, at Haven. With the Inquisition. You've done your part. You'd be safe, I'd make sure of it. Your family could visit.” 

Stay, with the Templars. Equal number people hated her as loved her. “I...” He wanted her to stay? Because of her magic? Because she could be a danger? Or was it something else? No, she told herself. It couldn't be. “I don't belong here.” She didn't belong anywhere, really. 

“You'll go with your brother then?”

Grace found she couldn't lie to him. _Yes, of course,_ she wanted to say. She looked at their hands, fingers now laced together. When had that happened? His hand was warm, fingers calloused. This man, this former Templar, whom she was truly terrified of when she'd first arrived at Haven, was holding her hand as if it were completely normal. 

The clanging of bells saved Grace from answering. But she in retrospect, she would have gladly faced answering Cullen over what was bearing down on them. Cullen reacted first to the bells, his hand tightening around Grace's. “Come on,” he said, and then they were running. “What is it?” he demanded of one of the scouts as the reached the gate to Haven. 

“A massive force, Commander.” 

“Under what banner?”

“None.” 

“None?” Josephine asked, surprise evident in her voice. 

“Gracie,” Rowan said, coming up behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. The gate banged before a voice from the other side asked for it to be opened. The voice was familiar. Grace broke away, shoved open the massive wood door. “Dorian,” she breathed out. They had met, only briefly in Redcliff. 

“I'm here to warn you, fashionably late I'm afraid.” 

It was a blur. The rebel mages, the Venatori were coming. Mages. Coming to fight, to kill. She looked at Cullen desperately. “Get to the Chantry,” he said in a hushed voice, his hand curling around her wrist. “We have soldiers, the trebuchets, the Templars. Go.” 

“Listen to him, Gracie,” Rowan said, strapping on armor. 

“No.” She shook her head. “I can't just hide. I won't.” 

“Gracie,” Rowan caught her arm, leaned close to her. “Go to the Chantry. I can't fight knowing you're out there. Neither can anyone else. We'll be too busy watching out for you.” 

Because she wasn't strong. Because she couldn't fight. It hurt to be such a burden. “Okay,” she said, taking a step back. “Okay.” She spun around, saw a woman struggling with her two shrieking children. “Here,” Grace said, rushing to the woman's side. 

“Bloody mages,” the woman muttered, then saw Grace, grabbed her two children by the hand. “No,” she spat. “I've got them. Don't need your help.” 

Grace flinched back from the hate rolling off the woman. “Grace,” Cullen called and she glanced back, saw him getting ready to go out and fight beside his soldiers, her brother.

“Be careful!” she yelled at them, before spinning back around and walking toward the Chantry. 

“It's for the best,” Josephine said as they arrived at the massive doors of the Chantry. 

“Sure.” Grace refused to go inside. All she could see was the lights of the force of mages coming down the mountain. There were so many. So many. There was no way they could fend them off. She paced restlessly, seconds stretched on for days. Ignoring the protests of Josephine, Grace left the Chantry, rushed down to her cabin and grabbed her staff. She stayed at the gate, waiting. There were some soldiers and Templars there. They ignored her. Grace was good with that. She climbed up onto one of the lookout platforms, stayed low and watched. They were too far for her to see anything. 

One of the trebuchets went off. She waited. Waited. Her hands were a riot of magic. Grace was half afraid she'd spontaneously combust if something didn't happen soon. The other trebuchet went off. The sound was loud. There was an avalanche, a wave of snow, the lights coming over the mountain were gone.

A roar filled the air and Grace nearly fell off her perch when she spotted the dragon. There were screams, cries of pain and terror. She scrambled down the ladder just as the gates were shoved open. Then the scream was her own. Rowan was being held up between Cullen and Cassandra, blood soaked the front of his shirt. His head lolled. He was motionless and limp. “No, no!” Grace ran to them, her magic flaring brilliantly as she hovered her hands over her brother, desperately searching for the injury. She found it. A sword had run him through. 

Frantic, she looked at Cullen and Cassandra. His face was grim and even Cassandra looked upset. “Ro,” she breathed out, pushing as much of her magic into him as she could as they hurried to the Chantry. Once inside, Rowan was laid out, with many others who had been injured. She wanted to help them all, but her brother. Rowan. 

“The Elder One, he wants the Herald.” Dorian's voice carried and after one last burst of magic into her brother, she stood and went to them. 

“He can have me,” Grace said. Her hands were trembling, stained with her brother's blood, she was terrified, but she wouldn't let them all die because of her.

“What?” Cullen barked. “You can't be serious!”

“If it will keep them safe, he can have me,” Grace said, refusing to look at Cullen. 

“It won't.” Dorian looked somewhat sympathetic.

“We can turn the trebuchet, bring the mountain down on Haven,” Cullen said. “We can't survive this fight. But we can control how it ends.” 

“I didn't rush here to have you drop rocks on my head!”

“There is a tunnel-”

Roderick said and Grace looked at him, this man who had been one of the strongest advocates against her. “Can you lead them to safety?” He nodded.

“And what about you?” Cullen said, grabbing Grace's arm. 

She forced a smile. “I'll distract him. Take everyone. Keep them safe, Cullen.” 

“Herald,” he started but she cut off his words with a kiss. Nothing sweet or tender about it. It was hard and bruising and tasted of blood. She felt movement. His hand coming up to tangle in her hair, to cup the back of her skull. One second she was there, the next she had used the newest trick she'd learned and fade-stepped away from him. She was outside the Chantry doors before he realized she'd even moved. “You cannot go alone! You'll be killed!” He yelled after her.

“Then so be it. I wasn't cut out for war anyways.” Grace used all her strength to shove the heavy door shut before sending a bolt of electricity through the latch, effectively melting the door shut. 

“Grace!” Cullen roared from the other side of the door and she pressed her forehead to it. 

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, then turned, with head held high, she took off running for the trebuchet. They will kill you, she thought as she saw the mages approaching. “They won't hesitate, so you cannot hesitate.” Cullen's voice was a soft whisper in her mind. She tugged her staff off her back. She swung it around, blasted electricity at them, sending them into convulsions and then she kept running. Blast after blast. Lightning and fire while she tried to avoid their own spells. One came close, sneaking up behind her, she spun, the blade on the end of her staff slicing out. Blood gushed from the woman's throat. With surprised eyes, the woman stared at Grace as she tumbled to the ground. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. 

Chest heaving, fingers practically burning with magic she made it to the trebuchet. She'd never live through this, she thought, turning the crank to aim the trebuchet. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she ignored them. At least she was doing something good. She thought of Rowan. Ached for the brother she'd only just gotten back, hoped with everything inside of her that he would be okay, that she had done enough. For the siblings, the niece, she would never know. But what mattered was that they would be safe. 

More mages came and Grace was exhausted, she didn't know how long she could keep it up. She was trembling, her back pressed against the stairs of the trebuchet. If she could just get up the stairs. If they would just send up the flare so she knew they were safe... 

The roar of the dragon took the breath from her lungs. She'd never be able to hold off against a dragon. Grace scrambled up the stairs. She would just have to hope. Hope that they were far enough away. A hand grabbed her ankle, yanked, her scream was cut off as she slammed face first into the stairs. Then she was lifted by her ankle, shook and then brought up to face The Elder One. 

Blood and tears blurred her vision. She hadn't been fast enough. They would all die, because of her.


	11. Chapter 11

Leaving to follow Roderick through the tunnel, to escape Haven was one of the hardest things Cullen ever did. He could still feel her lips against his. A fierce kiss, so unexpected. It was a goodbye. He knew that. She didn't believe she would live, which had made it all that much harder for him to let her go. But the people needed help. He needed to help them. 

But Grace needed help too. He absolutely believed in her strength, though she didn't believe it in herself. “Cullen,” Leliana said emphatically. “We must go.” He looked at her for a moment. She knew what it was to have to leave the hero to their fate. But the difference was Grace did not need to die. She had better not die. 

So they evacuated. Moved as fast as they could, which with the number of injured it was slow progress. “Light it,” he said, as soon as they reached the tree line. The flare was fired. He looked back to Haven, it looked like the entirety of it was burning. Nothing. Nothing. Dread landed on his chest like a rock. 

Nothing. “Keep moving!” Cullen commanded. He'd go back. He'd go look for her. He'd take on the Venatori, and the mages, the Elder One, himself. Then it happened. The mountain came down on Haven. He watched, as rock and snow wiped out what was left of the small village. He continued to stare, waiting, hoping for some sign of life. Hoping for anything. But it was much too far away and everything had gone still. As if the entire world waited and there was nothing. 

They continued to move farther from Haven. Or what was left of it. Finally, they found a place to set up camp. The wounded needed tending. “I'm going to go back,” Cullen said and Josephine shook her head.

“Cullen! You can't. You know-” her voice cracked and she drew in a deep breath. “You know that there is no way she could have survived that.” 

Logically, he knew that. But he'd promised her she was safe. Her part was done and she would be safe. He wouldn't stop until he'd found her. “I'm going.” He gathered a bag, collected a few things, a little food and water, a blanket and some healing tonics. Cullen drew the bag over his shoulder and turned to go. 

“I'll come with you, in case you need a hand,” Iron Bull said coming up beside him. 

 

They didn't make it far before the heavy snow storm stopped them in their tracks. No stars to guide them they had to wait it out. Cullen paced, anxiety and desperation waging a painful battle with common sense inside him. He rubbed his forehead, willing away the headache. No lyrium for, Maker, how long had it been now? Some days were always worse than others. Stress didn't help. Worry. Fear. He was afraid for Grace. The once fearful mage had slipped beneath his armor and touched his soul. 

She couldn't be dead. Maker, don't let her be dead. She'd been marked, even if she didn't believe. He did. If not by the Maker or some Divine being, by the world itself. They needed her. He touched his lips. He needed her. Cullen didn't understand it, the peace she brought to him in the chaos. Her magic so obviously out of control. By rights, Tranquility was the only answer. But the thought was so abhorrent to him that the idea of Grace with that blank expression, toneless voice, made him physically ill. 

 

Grace blinked up at the crack in the sky. Light poured through. She knew she needed to get up. But she couldn't remember where she was supposed to go. But she needed to find them. Her brow furrowed. Find who? She was so cold. But then she wasn't. Her eyes slid shut. Maybe a nap would help, she thought. Sleep. She wanted to sleep.

“You can't die,” a voice said, warm breath on her face. 

Opening her eyes was a struggle. She stared into the face of... who was he? The boy. She'd seen him before... somewhere. Had she? “No, it's okay,” she told him, trying to lift her arm, wanting to pat his shoulder, reassure him. But her arm didn't move. Nothing moved. That wasn't right, was it? “I can, it's okay.” Just close her eyes and sleep. Sleep. It would be okay.

“No,” he said, voice more insistent. “He'll be sad.” 

Grace blinked slowly, she remembered them. Faces. Scared. Battered. Dead bodies. Blood. “Are they safe?” she choked on the words. “Oh, Maker, tell me they are safe.”

“Safe. Scared. Searching. Dying.” 

“Keep them safe, Cole,” her voice was a broken plea. She hadn't failed. She had somehow managed to help them escape. “Please, keep them safe.” 

“He needs to find you. He doesn't sleep. Hasn't slept. It's been days.”

“You tell him to sleep.” Grace remembered kind eyes, a scarred mouth in a half smirk. A warm hand in hers. Pliant lips that had kissed her back. “Tell him if he doesn't sleep, I'll die just to spite him.” 

Cole shook his head. “He won't sleep until you're safe.” 

“If he doesn't sleep, I'll never speak to him again. I'll haunt him when I die. Permanently giving him the cold shoulder for the rest of his life.” Suddenly, Grace was freezing. Trembling. So cold. She hurt. Her entire body was a pulse of pain. “Tell him to hurry,” it barely came out a whisper as her eyes slid shut.

 

Cullen was frantic. Cole had shown up. Just appeared in front of him. “She's dying,” he had said. “She wants you to sleep, but she wants you to find her.” 

“Tell me where she is! Show me!” The boy, whatever he was, Spirit or Demon, Cullen didn't know, and in that moment he didn't care. He led the way through the storm. It had let up some, but not enough for Cullen to have been able to tell any direction. He questioned his own sanity a time or two, as did Bull, as they followed the boy like a beacon. 

Then he saw a dark shape sprawled beneath a rock overhang, mostly shielded from the snow. Cullen's pace quickened. As he grew closer his breath left him and he nearly lost his footing completely. She was covered in blood. Her face, her clothes, her hair, all soaked with it. How much of it was hers? She was utterly still and Cullen's heart stuttered. They were too late.

Falling to his knees beside her he hovered his hands over her, unsure where he could touch her. Finally, he pressed his fingers to her throat, found her pulse, though it was sluggish. Relief coursed through him. “Grace, Grace,” he said quietly, digging for a healing potion. Iron Bull beat him to it as he came to kneel beside her head. Together they tipped her head, opened her mouth and carefully trickled the potion between her lips. She didn't swallow. It dripped out of the corner of her mouth, tinged red. “No.” Cullen felt a desperation he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before. “We have to get her back to the camp.” Get her back to the healers. 

“Let's patch her up, best we can before we head out.” Iron Bull pulled out some bandages. “That is going to leave a nasty scar,” he commented, nodding to the gashes on her face. Her forehead, nose, cheek and chin oozed. What had happened? Cullen wondered. What had happened to her out there?

It was obvious she'd somehow escaped the avalanche. Had made it some distance from Haven before collapsing. Had Cole helped her? He looked around. The boy had once again vanished. They gave her a cursory inspection. Bandaged the wounds. Her shoulder had been dislocated, and popping it back into the socket, a painful process, Cullen knew from experience, only elicited a pathetic moan from her. 

 

They return trip to the camp passed faster than Cullen had anticipated, and Grace was descended upon by the healers, magic, and non. “Has there been any change?” Cullen asked, gesturing to Rowan, who was laid out on a cot not far from where Grace was being tended to. 

“No,” Cassandra said. “They've done all they can. They don't believe he'll survive the night.” Her voice was an emotionless staccato, causing Cullen to finally tear his eyes away from Grace to look at the Seeker. Her jaw was clenched tightly and her posture more rigid than usual. 

“It wasn't your fault,” he started.

“I know that,” she bit out the words, stared straight ahead, past the camp, over the mountain. “He is an idealistic fool.” 

The fighting had been bitter and hard. Between the mages and the Venatori, they had struggled to hold their ground. They'd been flanked and Rowan had swung around, to protect another soldier's back, only to be run through by another of the enemy. 

“He has a daughter,” Cassandra said quietly. “A daughter who is now going to be an orphan, because he was too much of a fool. He should have left weeks ago.” 

“You don't know that Cass,” Cullen said softly. The Seeker was a hard woman, sharp and dedicated, impossibly strong. But beneath the armor, he knew she was a romantic, someone who believed in the impossible. 

 

Later, once the healers had finished, done what they could, Cullen sat beside Grace's cot. They had cleaned her wounds and stitched and bandaged them. Applied potions and salves and used what magic they could. But it didn't seem to have done anything. Carefully, he slipped one hand beneath hers and then rested his other over the top of it. Not even a flicker of magic. Her fingers were cold, her hand a dead weight. “Maker,” he closed his eyes, bowed his head and began to pray. Not only for Grace, but for Rowan, and the others who had been injured and killed. 

They would have to move again soon. But where would they go? They were fractured right now. Hope was lost by many. It had already been days, and the people were desperate. 

“There is a place to the North,” Solas said in the early morning hours, as Cullen, Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra argued about their next steps. “It is called Skyhold. It would be worthy of the Inquisition, I believe.” 

“So, when do we leave?” Rowan appeared at Cassandra's side, battered, bruised and pressing a hand to his side.

“You are supposed to be resting!” Cassandra looked as though she might slap him upside the head.

Rowan smiled at her. “Bed rest gives me hives.” 

“Ugh.” She threw her hands up in the air in disgust. Rowan caught her gloved hand, pressed a kiss to the back of it and winked before turning and walking away. Cassandra didn't move for five long heartbeats. Then she stormed after Rowan. A small smile played over Cullen's lips until he looked back to the cot where Grace still lay, condition unchanging.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace's past comes back to haunt her attempt at a future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Elements of Non-Con/Rape**

Skyhold was pretty amazing, Grace thought as she stood on the landing, looking over the courtyard. She might very well appreciate it more if her entire body didn't pulse with pain. She had woken up in the night before they began their journey to Skyhold. It had been hard, but they had made it and were hopefully safe now.

Though, 'safe' was relative. The place was crawling with Templars and there were plenty of others who blamed her for their plight. Grace had been all too aware of the sidelong glances since she'd been able to drag herself from her bed. Rowan and even Josephine had tried to convince her to stay in bed, rest more, but she couldn't. No, she wouldn't. All of this was because of her. Corypheus had attacked Haven because of her. She looked down at her hand, the mark of supposedly stolen magic. 

A mistake. 

Wasn't she just? In so many ways. 

Her own magic had seemed to calm, albeit just barely. Grace had taken to sneaking down to the forge late at night where she did her best to practice what few spells she was capable of, in hopes that using her magic would stop it from trying to break free. 

She glanced over as Cassandra came up beside her. She waited, arms wrapped around herself, trying to hold herself together for the impending blame and ridicule. “Rowan says you should be resting.” 

“Rowan would wrap me up like a porcelain doll and stick me on a shelf if he could. My brother is foolish, but it's out of love.” When Cassandra didn't reply Grace decided she'd just get as far from the Seeker as she could before she decided to lay into her. 

“We lost a lot of people at Haven.” 

Grace was halfway down the stairs when the words brought her up short. Her eyes burned and her lungs suddenly felt tight. “I know,” her voice wavered and she hated herself for it.

“But we would have lost more had you not gone out there.”

Grace turned with a frown on her face. She shook her head. “Someone else would have done something. You would have escaped one way or another. Besides, it was me he wanted, my fault. The least I could do was try to stop him.” 

Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest as she looked down at her. “You should have been killed.” 

It was a kick to the gut, to her already battered soul. “Yes, I should have.” Grace swallowed hard. “I'll leave. That was always my intention.”

“What? No, that isn't- Ugh! That is not what I meant. Not that way.” She muttered something under her breath and closed the distance, standing on the same step as Grace. “You may not believe in the Maker. But I do. The fact that you survived alone against Corypheus and that dragon, survived bringing a mountain down on top of yourself, to me, that is a miracle. Further proof that the Maker chose you. Your place is here, with the Inquisition.” 

A part of Grace wanted to believe. Wanted it to be true. That she had been chosen for something amazing, to do something good for all of Thedas. Most of all, she wanted to belong. “No,” Grace said with a shake of her head. “You are wrong.” 

“You have led the people this far-”

Grace scoffed. “Really? Where have I led them? I led them to their deaths!” She threw her hand out. “Haven. How many did we lose? Because of me!”

“Corypheus would have attacked no matter what decisions were made. The Inquisition has become a power to stand against him.” 

“No!” Grace felt like she was talking to a stone wall. “He attacked because of me!” 

“And you have the power to stop him.”

Grace laughed at that, but it held no humor. “Really? You really believe that?”

Cassandra straightened her spine. “I do,” she said succinctly.

“Then I feel sorry for you. Do you want to know how I stopped him in Haven? After I fought the mages, killed-” the words caught in her throat and her eyes burned. “I killed so many of them. I was waiting. Waiting for that damn signal. He came and I made a dash for the trebuchet because I knew I couldn't stand against him. So even though I hadn't seen it, I was going to bring that mountain down and hope that everyone was a safe enough distance away. But he grabbed me, tossed me around like a rag doll, tried to take the mark, failed, and threw me into the trebuchet and told me the only answer was for me to die. Luck had me landing close enough to launch it. I never saw the signal. I thought I'd doomed everyone.”

“Divine intervention,” Cassandra said. 

Grace didn't understand how Cassandra could be so dead-set on believing that Grace was touched. “I give up,” she shook her head and turned, silently cursed. Again with the audiences. She stormed down the stairs and was halfway across the courtyard when she spotted Cullen standing with a handful of his troops. She wanted to speak with him. She'd barely seen him and hadn't had the chance to speak with him since Haven. 

He hadn't sought her out, and she didn't know if it was because he was so busy, or if he was avoiding her because of the kiss. Grace didn't know what she'd been thinking. She hadn't expected to survive, and she cared about Cullen, knew there would be nothing between them in the future regardless, so she had taken that chance. She should apologize, she thought. Things were already awkward enough as it was, she didn't need him thinking that she was hoping for more. Grace knew better. She'd learned that lesson a long time ago. 

“Cullen,” she said softly as she approached him. “When you have a moment may I-” she froze, her words caught in her throat and she couldn't even breathe as she laid eyes on the man beside him. 

“Grace,” the man spoke. “I never thought I'd see you again.” 

“Kendrick,” she all but choked out his name. 

Cullen's brow furrowed. “I didn't realize you two knew each other.” He looked from Grace to Kendrick and back again. 

“Yes,” Kendrick drawled. “I was at the Ostwick Circle Tower for a time.” 

“You know him?” she said to Cullen.

“Kendrick and I trained together, we became good friends, but lost touch with each other after... after the blight.” 

Good friends, Grace thought and she was fairly certain that her blood had turned to sludge in her veins. Cullen was good friends with the man who had- she shook her head abruptly. “I'm sorry but if you'll excuse me.” She turned on her heel and quickly walked away. “Touched by the Maker, my ass,” she muttered under her breath as furious tears burned down her cheeks. “More like cursed by the Maker.” 

 

She wandered along the ramparts for what seemed like hours, making her way back and forth as she tried to sort through everything. Grace heard someone behind her but didn't think anything of it, as the patrols had mostly ignored her. But then she felt it. The Silence. It crept through her. “No,” she murmured, felt her entire body slow to a halt. Now she really couldn't move. “Let me go, Kendrick,” she bit out the words. He stepped into her view, a broad grin on his face. 

“Oh, but how I've missed you.” He nudged her back, her entire body pliant to his commands. Her back hit the wall, her hands flat against the rough stone. He stepped closer, smirked. 

Furious tears welled up in her eyes. “I am not your plaything anymore.”

“No?” He reached up, fingered a lock of her hair, trailed that finger along her jaw, down her throat. Grace could do nothing. 

“I'll tell-”

“Who?” he cut her off with a condescending smile. “Cullen? Tell him you were so desperate for a little affection that you turned whore for the Templars?” 

Her eyes went wide. “I did not,” she hissed. “You lied to me. Manipulated me.” How she wished she could wipe those memories from her mind. She'd been so naive and she'd paid for it, over and over again.

“Who do you think he'll believe? The fellow Templar he grew up alongside? Or the _Mage_?” he sneered the word as if it were foul. Her heart kicked painfully in her chest because he was right. Grace's eyes slipped shut in resignation. “There's a good girl.” 

Then Kendrick's mouth was on hers, she felt bile rise in her throat. “I hate you,” she breathed when he pulled back. 

“I know.” His breath fanned over her face, she wanted to vomit. “And that is what makes this so much sweeter.” Kendrick pulled back but didn't let go of his spelled hold over her. “Oh, Cullen didn't see you there.” 

Cullen was blushing furiously and Grace felt her own face go pink, out of fury and mortification. _Cullen, help me, please,_ she wanted to beg. But Kendrick was right. Cullen wouldn't believe her. In fact, he was probably enraged that she'd had the nerve to kiss him, especially in front of so many people. 

“I didn't mean to interrupt.” 

“No, no, it's fine.” Kendrick was all smooth charm. “I was just so relieved. Gracie here had me worried for the last few months. I thought I'd never see her again.” 

Grace turned her face away and felt a tear roll down her cheek. 

“Grace?” Cullen spoke softly. 

Composing herself as best she could she turned her face and met his gaze. “I guess I lied.” Her tone was flippant. “The Templars at Ostwick weren't all so bad.”

His cheeks went even hotter. “Right.” Then he turned and walked away.

Kendrick leaned in, pressed his mouth to her ear. “You even so much as hint at the truth, your brother will die the same way Toby did.” 

Grace's mind flashed back to that day, he'd been Tranquil for weeks already. Words of rebellion spread fast, she'd been holding his hand, leading him away, they fell behind Alice and Joseph in the chaos. 

_“Come on, Toby, we have to hurry.”_

_“Yes, of course,” he said, voice toneless. Emotionless. Then he yanked on her hand, surprising her, she whirled around and saw the sword, blood-soaked and glinting as it protruded from his chest. Then it was yanked back, his knees gave out and Grace saw Kendrick standing behind him, holding the sword. He smirked, but she ignored him, shook her head and dropped to her knees, hands pressed against the wound._

_“Toby, oh Toby, no,” she felt tears stream down her cheeks as she gathered as much of her magic as she could and began pushing the healing energy into him. “It's okay, sweetheart, it'll be okay.” Kendrick snorted and a heartbeat later her magic was gone. “No! No!” she screamed. So much blood. She couldn't stop it. She clung to Toby, held him to her chest. “Oh, Toby,” Grace wailed, buried her face in the top of his head. He reached up, patted her arm._

_“S'okay, Grace. S'okay. Don't cry.” He coughed, blood oozed from his mouth. “Would slow you down,” he told her. “Be safe, Grace.”_

“You so much as lay one finger on my brother, I will-” 

“You'll what?” Kendrick leaned in, nose almost touching hers. “Stand there and watch?” He brushed a kiss against her lips, then drew back.

It took almost a full minute after Kendrick had walked away for the Silence to fade. His own special brand of torture. He had the ability to not just stop a mage's magic, but a mage's entire body. He could bend them to his will. Grace hit her knees, doubled over and wretched.


	13. Chapter 13

Grace stood in the war room, staring down at the map, though she wasn't seeing anything. Just a few moments of peace. Of privacy. So much work to be done. They'd named her Inquisitor, to uproarious applause. She didn't believe it had anything to do with her. But rather her new Templar keeper. 

He knew how to play to the crowd, sway people, seduce them. She clenched her eyes shut, tried to will away the memories. All the sweet words he'd whispered in her ear, the promises of what they could have. The home, the future, and she had eaten up every word of it. 

They'd had to keep it quiet, of course. Such things were frowned upon, Mages and Templars cavorting. But, it happened nonetheless. Kendrick had promised that one day they would get to go away. He'd also promised that the sex would get better once she learned what she was doing. For months she'd been blissfully ignorant. 

Until reality slapped her in the face and she discovered Kendrick's little trick. 

_“Kendrick,” Grace murmured because they had to be quiet. “When?” she asked, and absentmindedly helped him strip her from her robes._

_“When what?” He turned her, pressed her chest against the wall._

_“When are we going to get to go away? You keep saying it will be soon, but-”_

_“Heh,” he laughed, a rough hand gripped her bare hip. “You really are an idiot.”_

_She flinched, tried to turn, but it was as if she'd lost control over her own body. He curled his fingers in her hair and yanked hard, jerking her head back. She cried out, confusion and anger filled her, but before she could manifest even a morsel of magic he'd Silenced her._

_“So young, so naive,” he crooned in her ear. Grace closed her eyes, tried to disconnect from her body. “You really thought I'd take you away from here? A worthless, dangerous Mage? No, you're right where you belong.”_

Toby had found her crying in the back of the library, then went and got Alice. And suddenly, Grace wasn't alone anymore. She'd never told them about what had happened, but she had a feeling Alice knew. 

It hadn't stopped Kendrick from seeking her out, but Alice and Joseph had made it harder for him to corner her. Just before her Harrowing, she'd found herself locked in a room with Kendrick and a few of his _good friends_. 'In case you fail and we have to kill you,' he'd said. 'I want something to remember you by.' 

_Good friends._ Her mind recoiled at the image of Cullen in that room, standing beside Kendrick. She had to get away, she had to do something. She ran across the room, shoved open the door and slammed into Cullen's chest. Grace bounced back, landed hard on the floor and stared up at the ceiling as she tried to breathe. 

“Grace,” Cullen knelt beside her. “Maker, are you alright?” One of his hands smoothed the top of her head, the other grasped her hand, the leather warm and soft against her fingers.

She shook her head, then nodded, struggled to suck in a breath. 

“I'll go fetch a healer, where were you going in such a hurry?” He started to release her hand, but Grace curled her fingers around his, squeezed, held on tight.

“No,” it was a choked rasp. “Just-” she wheezed. “Wait.” Long minutes ticked by, and steadily Grace regained her breath, all the while Cullen knelt there, holding her hand, stroking her hair. She closed her eyes, felt a tear roll down her temple and into her hair. “Okay,” she finally said. “I'm okay.” Cullen helped her to her feet and she noticed the brown leather book he'd dropped. “I'm sorry, I don't know why I-” Grace shook her head. “Were you heading to the War Room?” Of course, he was, because that was the only thing at this end of the hallway. 

“I was, uh,” he seemed to realize he still held her hand, jerked back, then stooped to pick up the book. Cullen held it behind his back and Grace watched his ears turn pink before he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “You stopped drawing.” 

She blinked at him, thought mournfully of her sketchbook she'd destroyed in a fit of temper.

“I thought, perhaps, it was because you lost your other sketchbook at Haven.” He thrust the book at her. “It's stupid,” he muttered. “I don't know why-” 

Grace took it, held it, turned it over in her hands. “It's beautiful,” she murmured. Her fingers itched to find a piece of charcoal, start sketching. The dragon, Corypheus, Cullen's perfect mouth. “Thank you,” she said quickly, clutching it to her chest.

“You're welcome,” that perfect mouth quirked up, but it only lasted a second. Cullen's brow knit together. “Why? Why lie about your time at the Circle? How did it benefit you?” He shook his head, confusion written all over his face.

Grace bowed her head and closed her eyes. 

He scoffed quietly. “You were coddled.” Her head jerked back up and she stared at him, watched him rub his forehead. For the first time, she had no desire to help ease his pain. “The magic, the fear, was it all an act?” 

Her arms fell to her sides, the book still clutched in one hand, she stared at him in shock. “Yes, Commander,” she deadpanned. “It was all an elaborate ruse.” Grace let the sketchbook slip from her fingers and walked away. 

 

The forge was quiet, save for Dagna's chattering on about weapons and armor and the mark. Grace stood in front of the ledge that lead to nothingness. She peered over the edge, considered. Wouldn't it be so much easier to just give up? Cole was suddenly at her side, his hand holding onto hers. Grace curled her other hand around his bicep and tilted her head to rest it against his shoulder. “How do I help?” he asked her quietly. 

“This helps.” He tipped his head to rest against hers and they stood there, listening to Dagna and staring out at the snow-covered mountains. 

“He hurts you.”

“It's fine, Cole,” she said softly, hand tightening on his arm. “I'm fine.”

“No, you're not.” 

Grace tugged him around to face her, touched his cheek. “Please, don't do anything. Just stay away from him.” Because if he were to hurt Cole or anyone else for that matter. She closed her eyes, steeled herself. She had no choice but to deal with him, be near him, to make sure he didn't hurt anyone.

 

Days bled together. Grace felt herself retreating more and more, she avoided everyone while trying to stay at Kendrick's side at all times. To be his shadow. The War Room meetings seemed to grow more and more intense with each passing day. Cullen wouldn't even look at her, and she knew his headaches were worse. Alice would have been disappointed by Grace's petty pleasure over his suffering. She still itched to help, but Kendrick had almost completely effectively leashed her. Grace couldn't use her magic even if she wanted to. 

“We need to travel to Halamshiral, as soon as possible. Empress Celene,” Josephine prattled on with details that Grace paid little attention to. All of the Inquisition's allies had left Skyhold, working to gain resources, and the power they needed to make that last step to get to Halamshiral. Grace, of course, was not allowed to go. Kendrick was far too _concerned_ for her safety. Even Rowan had gone, for which Grace would be eternally grateful. They had argued, viciously before he'd left. She wasn't sure he'd ever forgive her. Maybe he just wouldn't come back.

 

It was late one evening, and Grace was hiding. She was sitting on a small pile of hay in one of the empty horse stalls. Maybe she could just stay there, forever. Her mortification had reached new levels earlier that day. Her cheeks flamed with heat at just the memory. 

_”On your knees,” Kendrick sneered._

_“No.”_

_“On. Your. Knees.” He wrapped his fist in her hair and pulled, causing her eyes to prick with tears before she hit her knees in front of him. The stone walkway of the battlements dug into her knees. She clenched her jaw, teeth grinding together. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could see them. “Why must you always fight me?” He pulled harder, a gasp of pain escaped her lips. She heard a door open, out of the corner of her eye she saw- her heart kicked hard. Cullen stood there, then promptly spun and slammed the door shut behind him._

“My lady?”

Grace jerked in surprise, looking up quickly she saw Blackwall standing in front of the stall. “Oh, oh Maker. I'm sorry, I was just-” She shook her head quickly, scrambled to her feet. “I wanted someplace quiet to sit, and I didn't know you were back,” she said in a rush.

“Only just,” he said, catching her elbow when she stumbled. “You're fine, come sit by the fire why don't you.” 

She let him lead her the short distance to the fire, but she didn't sit. “Who else has returned?”

“Solas and Varric.” Blackwall stood beside her, watching her. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” Grace forced a smile, waved him off. “What's it like to be a Grey Warden?” She didn't know much about them, other than that they were the ones who kept them all safe from the Blights.

“A lot of fighting when there is a Blight on. When there isn't, it's preparing for the next. But it means something. It is honor. It's being able to put your past behind you and do something good.” 

They stood there in silence for a long while, Grace was glad for it. Blackwall didn't seem the type for needless chatter. “Did you make that?” She nodded her head to the rocking horse on the table. 

“Keeps the hands busy,” he said.

“It's beautiful.” Grace walked around the fire to stand in front of it, let her fingers trace the details of the griffin head. “I don't think I could do something like that.” 

“I hear your drawings are quite remarkable.” 

Grace let out a little laugh. “I don't draw anymore, but this-”

Blackwall moved to stand beside her. “I could teach you if you'd like.” 

“Would you?”

He nodded and found a piece of wood on the table, then a small knife. “It's relaxing, you have got a lot going on what with Corypheus and everything that is going on.” He moved behind her, and Grace tensed for a moment, then he placed the wood in her left hand, the blade in her right. “Hold it like this.” Blackwall guided her fingers. “Work slowly, let the wood guide you.” 

He was about to step back, laid his hands on her shoulders. “Sit by the fire so you can see,” he told her. 

“Grace.” 

She flinched, jerked, cursed softly. Blackwall saw the blood on her left hand. He grabbed a clean rag, gripped her hand. 

“What are you doing, Grace?”

Kendrick, the prig, Blackwall thought. Something about the man put him off. “I'm fine, it's fine,” Grace said quickly, clamping her hand over the wound. “I'm sorry,” she said, and Blackwall didn't know if she was apologizing to him, or to Kendrick. 

“Go see the healer,” Blackwall said. “I'll walk you there myself.”

“No, no, it's fine.” 

“I've been looking for you everywhere,” Kendrick stepped closer, looked at her hand, then narrowed his eyes at Blackwall. “I'll ask you kindly to remove your hands from her.” 

“I'm fine,” Grace said again, pulling her hands back. “I'm sorry,” she murmured and stepped around him.

It took everything in Blackwall not go grab Kendrick and demand some answers. Instead, he watched them walk away, then immediately slipped in through the kitchen entrance and jogged up the stairs of the rotunda to find Leliana.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen becomes quite violent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been such a very long time since I have written anything to this extent. Thank you so very much for reading it, the Kudos and comments seriously make my day! 
> 
> Also, I promise that Cullen and Grace will get their shit together eventually. I don't believe I've ever written anything with such a slow burn... I'm more of an instant gratification kind of girl. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you again!

“The others will return soon, and then we'll be ready to travel to Halamshiral. We must save the Empress.” 

“Do we really need to?” Kendrick asked. “I believe Gaspard is in the right.” 

“This is Grace's decision,” Leliana said, arms crossed over her chest. “She is the Inquisitor, the one we chose to lead us.” 

“You agree, don't you?” Kendrick asked looking at her expectantly. They were all looking at her, waiting for a response. 

“Gaspard is our ticket in, but I don't see why the Empress needs to die.” She wrapped her arms around herself, looked down at the map, refused to meet anyone's gaze.

“This isn't a decision that needs to be made right now,” Leliana said. “We still have a few days before we'll depart. We can discuss it further, later.” Dismissed. They began to make their way to the door, but Leliana hadn't moved. “Grace, if I might have a moment?” Kendrick came up short beside her, waiting. “You can leave,” she told him. “This is private.”

“Whatever you have to discuss with Grace can be shared with me. She'll tell me later anyways.”

Leliana's head tilted ever so slightly, she stared at him. “Leave.”

Kendrick smirked, but spun around and left the room. Grace stood awkwardly in front of Leliana for several moments before Leliana blew out a breath. “I don't know how I could have missed it, I was so focused on other things. I'm glad that Blackwall brought it to my attention.”

Grace's head jerked up, eyes wide, she shook her head quickly. “No, what are you talking about?” 

Leliana reached out, took Grace's bandaged hand and lead her back to the table where she unwrapped the cloth, inspected the injury. She applied a salve and then re-bandaged it with gentle hands. “I am ashamed I didn't see it sooner, it will not continue.”

“No,” Grace's eyes flooded with tears. “Please.” 

“Who did he threaten? Just you? No, I don't believe that. Your brother. You two fought before he left because your other brothers and niece are on their way here. You wanted to protect them.” Grace buried her face in her hands and Leliana reached out, a hand on her shoulder. “I will never allow that to happen,” Leliana told her. “He will not live long enough to see them, let alone hurt them. Or you, ever again for that matter.” 

“Thank you,” Grace's voice cracked.

“No,” Leliana shook her head. “You should be angry with me. I found out some of what happened while you were in the Circle. I should have seen it sooner. I promised you safety from the beginning and you have been anything but safe. I'll do better.” 

Grace began to cry, relief and fear warring inside of her. If anyone could stop him, it would be Leliana. “He's Cullen's friend.” 

“If Cullen knew the truth-”

“No,” Grace interrupted. “He can't. Please, don't let him know.” What he'd seen already was bad enough, if he knew the rest, he'd be disgusted with her. “I don't want anyone to know.” 

Leliana's lips pursed, then reached out and stroked a hand down the back of Grace's head. “I will not tell him. But Cullen would never stand for someone like Kendrick. I will take care of it, quietly. Kendrick will be gone before the end of breakfast.” 

Once Grace was able to compose herself, she walked down the hallway and entered the main hall where people still sat at tables, eating. She felt lighter than she had in weeks. Until she saw Kendrick sitting with Cullen. Kendrick smirked and she was suddenly rooted to the spot, his voice loud enough that the entire table could hear him.

 

Cullen was not a violent man. He had fought, had killed, had protected. Because it was a necessity. But he'd never had a particular bloodlust. That was changing, rapidly. Kendrick spoke of Grace. Recalling their time at the Circle. Graphically. He didn't understand how Grace could have chosen someone like that. He'd thought, over their short time together, that he knew her. But obviously, he'd been wrong. He was also wrong about Kendrick. The man was nothing like the man he'd known in their younger days. 

“Of course,” Kendrick said, voice suddenly rising. “By the time she was to go through her Harrowing, she'd whored herself through at least half of the Templars at Ostwick.” Cullen's hands curled into fists. “She likes it, you see. Enjoys the attention. Plays at being fearful, but it only adds to her thrill. I had considered offering her to you, she definitely would have enjoyed that.”

Cullen had no memory of launching himself across the table. He and Kendrick landed hard on the floor, and blood spurted from Kendrick's nose and mouth. He heard the gasps and shouts but continued landing blow after blow. Kendrick laughed and Cullen stopped, face contorted in a confused rage. 

Grace cried out. Cullen jerked his head around, saw her standing just behind where he'd been sitting, then a moment later she collapsed. Kendrick was grinning, but Cullen rectified that with another hard blow to the face. Men came and carted Kendrick off, to the dungeon at Leliana's instruction. The hall was vacated, save for himself, Leliana, Josephine, and Blackwall. The latter two on their knees beside Grace, helping her to sit up, then, once she'd stopped convulsing, to stand.

“How did this go unnoticed?” Josephine demanded of the group, angry with them, with herself. “How did no one see what was happening?” She petted Grace's back. “How long has this been going on?” She focused on Grace. 

“Years,” her voice was a little unsteady. 

“You don't have to say anything,” Leliana told her, but Grace waved her off.

“I was young and naive, so stupid. He wove lies and I believed them. Then when I didn't believe him any longer, he showed me what he was capable. He was fond of using Silence on mages, but he could also bend their body to his will. I'm sure there were others, but I think I was his main target.”

“Why didn't you tell anyone?” Josephine asked.

“Who would I tell? Who would have believed me? I was an obviously unhappy mage in the Circle. He was a Templar. I would have been made Tranquil as punishment and example.” Movement caught her eye and she glanced over, saw Cullen walking away. He shoved open the door and was gone. Grace ignored the pang in her chest. 

 

“Open it,” Cullen commanded. The soldier immediately lunged for the cell door, fumbled with the key, before finally managing to open it. Kendrick sat against the wall, his face covered with dried blood. He smirked up at Cullen. “Get up.” When he didn't, Cullen reached down, gripped the front of his shirt and yanked him to his feet before shoving him hard into the wall. “You are a disgrace,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

“You let her get to you. Fucking Mages. They were made to serve man,” he grinned. “She served me quite well.” 

Cullen gave him a shake, slamming him into the wall again, making Kendrick let out a quiet grunt. “How many others? How many others did you treat so poorly?” The word was an understatement of grand proportions. Cullen would never forgive himself for not seeing it. He'd seen Grace when she'd first arrived, her fear was real. There was nothing coy about it. “I want the names of every other Templar that allowed this, that joined you in your atrocities. And I want the name of every single mage you ever so much as looked at.” 

At one point Cullen heard the guard retching before he quickly scampered away. Kendrick was a mess of broken bones and to Cullen's bitter enjoyment, broken will by the time he was finished. He drew out his sword, held it to Kendrick's throat. “This mercy is only to prevent you from ever causing her harm again.” 

He walked away, back in the bright morning light of the courtyard he could see the blood stains on his gloves, his pants. He made his way up the stairs, paid no mind to the people who stared and all but tripped over themselves to get out of his way. He found Leliana at the top of the tower. She looked at him with a raised brow. “I take it that Kendrick is no longer a problem?”

Cullen thrust a piece of paper at her. “A list of every Templar that took part of his...” Cullen swallowed the bile. “There can be no redemption.” 

“Are you implying you want them dead?” she asked, her tone almost surprised.

“I'm implying nothing. Find them. If they didn't perish at the Temple, right the error.” Cullen's hands curled into fists. “If you don't, I will.”

“It will be done,” she said smoothly. “Cullen, this isn't your fault.”

“Isn't it? I knew him. I trusted him. But I hadn't seen him in years. Well over a decade. Yet I allowed myself to hold a blind eye to what was directly in front of me. And at what cost?” 

“Grace is resilient.” 

“She shouldn't have to be!”

Leliana looked over the list, then turned it over, brow furrowed. “These aren't names of Templars.” 

Cullen sagged, bowed his head and reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Mages. See that they are taken care of, safe. That they know he is dead.” 

 

In the following days, as their allies began to return, Grace had taken to spending much of her time at the stables with Blackwall, where he was teaching her how to carve. At first, it had been awkward. He knew _everything._ But she realized that awkward feeling was all on her part. He joked with her, made her laugh. Told her stories and treated her no differently than he had before. 

When Cole made it back to Skyhold, he joined her. “You're still sad,” he commented one day, while she struggled with the shape of the wood in her hand. She'd wanted to carve a lion. An audacious task. She should have started with a cat. Or maybe a snake.

“Cole,” she said softly. “I don't think that will ever change. But I am better.” He looked at her with a frown.

“You are. But the hurt-” 

Grace reached out and took his hand. “Will heal. I have friends, you and Blackwall,” she tipped her head in the direction of the older man who was carving a wooden sword. Perfect size for a child. 

“The others care, worry. Cullen-”

“No,” Grace said quickly. “Please, stay out of Cullen's head. I don't need to know what he thinks.”

“But-”

“Cole, please. For me?”

His agreement was reluctant, but finally, he relented. 

 

“Where is he?!” Rowan all but bellowed, jerking Grace from her concentration. She managed not to cut herself this time but frowned at the figure in her hand. 

“What are you yelling about?” she asked looking up. Then she saw that he wasn't alone. Iron Bull, Dorian, Cassandra, Varric and even Solas and Sera were behind him. Grace flushed.

“Kendrick,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “I'll kill him.”

“Too late,” Grace said casually, then went back to her carving, in a poor attempt to ignore them. 

“Kendrick the Prick. Slimy, that one,” Sera said and Grace's mouth twitched. “Smile was too big. Too smooth. Like a slug. Blech.” 

Grace glanced up, they all still stood there and she didn't know what they wanted from her. “What?” she hissed out.

Iron Bull walked in, stretched out on the ground beside her. “You okay, Boss?”

She watched him for a moment, feeling so confused. “Yeah,” she said. “I'm okay.” Grace wasn't sure she'd ever be completely okay again. But she was still living, still going, she'd keep fighting. They had to stop Corypheus, after all. If by some miracle she survived that, she'd worry about being better than 'okay.' 

Rowan walked over to sit at her other side since Cole had left when she wasn't looking. “Gracie,” he spoke softly.

“Don't, Ro. Just let it go. Are you still going to leave when they get here?”

He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “Do you want me to?”

Grace's throat went tight and she shook her head. “No, I really don't.” Rowan wrapped a careful arm around her shoulders as if he were afraid to touch her. “I'm not going to break, Ro,” she whispered. 

His grip tightened and he tugged her into his side and pressed a kiss against the top of her head. The others made their way in, finding places to sit, and then they began to chat. Gossip and conversations about the places they'd gone, the people they'd met. For the first time since the entire drama began, Grace felt at peace with where she was. She may still not belong, but she didn't feel so out of place.


	15. Chapter 15

“I don't see why I have to wear this,” Grace hissed. “Why can't I just wear what you're wearing?” she waved an emphatic hand at Josephine and Leliana. They both looked well put together, professional, and clothed. Whereas Grace felt naked. Stripped bare for all of Orlais to see. 

She wasn't. But she hadn't worn anything of its like since she'd been a child, and never anything so nice. The dress was beautiful. Her collarbones and palms were really the only flesh showing aside from her face. It was made of layers upon layers of rich dark red lace, the bodice was adorned with gold and silver swirls and fit snugly against her torso, the skirt was so full Grace wasn't sure she would be able to take a step without tripping over it. The sleeves were tight, but she was relieved that she could still move. 

Josephine had taken the time to pin up Grace's hair in an elaborate style, adorned with jewels and the strategically loose curls framed her face. “There,” Josephine said, turning Grace to face the mirror. 

It took her own breath away. She looked... nothing like herself. Her eyes had been lined in dark kohl, her lips painted a red that matched the dress. Leliana moved up behind her with a black lace half mask that only made Grace look more striking. 

“If you're uncomfortable, I'm certain we can-”

“No,” Grace breathed. She was, but she also felt beautiful. Which was something she was certain she'd never felt. “I love it.” 

 

Cullen was pacing the foyer, the collar of his formal wear too tight. He hated it. Hated the game. Hated that Grace had to stand front and center for them. Put herself in harm's way, yet again. He was hopeful, though, that once this was over, Grace could stay at Skyhold, stop putting herself in danger. She deserved so much better. 

She also hadn't spoken to him, not once since the fiasco with the sketchbook. He'd been a fool. The shame he felt overwhelmed every other feeling inside him. His headaches were worse, the withdrawal? Or Guilt? He'd never forgive himself and he imagined neither would Grace. 

He heard a door upstairs open, soft murmured voices. “Go ahead, we'll be right down,” Leliana called.

“You just want a good vantage point for when I trip and fall down the stairs,” Grace called back.

Cullen couldn't breathe. Grace stood at the top of the stairs, one hand fumbling with the layers of her skirt while she gripped the banister with her other hand. She was so focused on her descent that she hadn't seemed to notice him until she was nearly at the bottom. She met his gaze, faltered. Cullen sprang forward, caught her, helped her regain her footing. “You look-” he couldn't begin to think of a word that would do her justice.

Her cheeks turned pink and she looked away. “It was Leliana and Josie's idea.” She shifted backward, and Cullen jerked back, putting a respectable distance between them. 

“I'm sure you'll be the belle of the ball.”

Grace's cheeks went even pinker at that. “Commander,” she spoke softly. “Could we, perhaps start over? Put everything that has happened behind us and just pretend?” It was what she was trying with all their allies. Making an effort to get to know them, and once they returned to Skyhold she'd try harder.

Cullen shook his head. He could never forget what had happened. Would not pretend it didn't. “No, absolutely not.” 

“Oh,” Grace breathed. “Right, of course, then I am sorry.” Another door opened and Blackwall appeared in the foyer. Cullen watched the way her face lit up. “Blackwall,” she smiled.

“My lady.” He bowed before her, then offered her his arm. “I've never seen a more exquisite creature in all my life.” 

She giggled. Actually giggled as she slipped her hand onto his arm. “Promise you won't leave my side tonight?”

“Your many future dance partners may take umbrage with that.” 

Cullen watched Blackwall lead Grace out the door to the awaiting carriage just as Josephine and Leliana came down. 

 

Grace sat in the carriage with Blackwall as they awaited the others. Her dress taking up a good portion of the seat. “When are you going to put him out of his misery?” Blackwall asked quietly and Grace looked at him, startled.

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“The commander.”

She shook her head, eyes darting to the front doors, keeping an eye out for them. “I tried, he would have none of it.” 

Blackwall reached over and caught one of her hands in his, only then did she realize she'd been nervously twisting her small clutch purse. “He blames himself, Grace.” 

“Nonsense,” she protested. “He has no reason to, he did nothing wrong.” Other than believing the worst of her, but he hadn't been the only one. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he brought her hand up, pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Reason has nothing to do with it. When a man cares about a woman, and she is violated the way you were, he will always blame himself.” 

Grace shook her head, saw the door open, watched as her trio of advisors stepped out. “He doesn't care about me,” she murmured. 

Blackwall didn't release her hand but gave it a little squeeze as the three grew closer. “I saw the look on his face when you appeared at the top of those stairs. If it wasn't the face of a man in love, I don't know what is.” 

The carriage door opened, Cullen peered in, caught sight of Grace and Blackwall's clasped hands, and quickly looked away. “Josie and Leliana opted to ride with Cole and Dorian. For the sake of your dress.” He settled onto the bench across from them and stared at their fingers twined together, he decided that it was pure torture.

Cullen was rubbing his forehead, eyes closed tightly. “Your head is bothering you again,” Grace said quietly, once she'd finally found her voice. Blackwall was wrong. Had to be. 

He waved her off. “It's fine,” he said dismissively. 

Grace shot Blackwall a look. _See_ , she thought. _He doesn't care for me._ He grinned at her and she narrowed her eyes.

“So your brothers and niece should be there by the time we return to Skyhold, right?”

Grace quirked a brow at him. “Yes, that is why Rowan stayed behind so that he'd be there when they arrived.” 

“I can't wait to meet them.” 

Grace felt a little tug at her heart. “Me too,” she murmured. It had been so long since she'd seen her brothers, they were strangers. How much about her did they actually remember? And Nora, would she like Grace? 

“That lion you've been working on,” Grace felt her cheeks start to turn pink at Blackwall's words. “Is that for her?”

“What?” she laughed. “No, of course not. It's terrible. It could scarcely be called a cat of any kind.” 

“I wouldn't say that,” he lifted their twined hands, turned her hand to inspect the now mostly healed gash along the base of her palm. “You've got quite talented hands.” 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Cullen's reaction to Blackwall's blatant provocation. Cullen jerked, but only slightly and his jaw clenched. She met Blackwall's eyes and saw the mischief dancing there. _You're as bad as Sera,_ she thought. _You two have spent far too much time together as of late._ He grinned, brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her knuckles, and just held her hand there. 

Cullen shifted, loudly. “Oh, sorry,” he said when he kicked Blackwall's knee, hard. Blackwall grunted, rubbed at the ache and Grace tugged on her hand and he let her pull it away from his lips. Then she turned her face away, tipping her head down to hide her smile.

Amusing as it was, she still didn't believe it. If anything he felt the guilt that Leliana felt, simply for not seeing it sooner. For a man, he'd known turning out to be a dishonorable person. 

Cullen scrambled out of the carriage as soon as it came to a halt, but he stopped, waited, and held a hand out to Grace to help her down from the carriage. “Thank you,” she murmured, struggled with the massive skirts, nearly fell once again, but she managed to stay upright.

 

The night had been a blur of blood and lies and Grace wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for the next week. But they had managed to come out on top, the three, Celene, Gaspard and Briala, would work together, and they would back the Inquisition. She heard someone step out onto the balcony and closed her eyes. “Blackwall,” she sighed. “I told you, I won't make a fool of myself-” she turned, saw Cullen standing there, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I'm sorry, I was just-” 

“Maker,” she muttered. “I'm sorry. Did you need something?” 

He walked past her, leaned against the stone balustrade. “I was worried for you tonight.” Grace walked over to stand beside him, stared out at the view. 

“I had good people at my back, they wouldn't let anything happen to me.” 

“Blackwall, he seems to care for you a great deal.” 

Grace smiled, tipped her face back to look up at the stars. “He does and I have grown quite fond of him as well.” 

“Right,” Cullen straightened suddenly and Grace saw the wince cross his face as she glanced back at him. 

“If you feel any guilt because of what happened between Kendrick and I, please don't,” she told him quietly. “I don't blame anyone, except for him. He was a monster. And he's gone now, thanks to Leliana.” She was finally, truly free of him. 

Cullen looked at her, startled. She didn't know. “Right,” he said slowly. “Leliana.” He wasn't sure if he was glad for that or not. He didn't think he wanted Grace to know he was capable of such brutal abuse and murder. But then again, she had every right to know. 

“It wasn't Leliana that killed him, was it?” her voice was barely a whisper and Cullen cursed her observance and his reaction. 

“No,” the word was blunt. 

She'd heard a few whispers about it, but no one had spoken the name of who'd been the one to break Kendrick. Grace had just assumed it had been one of Leliana's men. “Did he suffer?” she cursed the tremor in her voice.

“Yes.” Cullen turned away, rubbed his hands over his face. 

“Good,” her voice cracked. “Thank you.” He dropped his hands to his sides and turned back to look at her. “What?” she asked. “Did you expect me to be appalled? Disgusted? The only thing I regret is that I didn't strike the killing blow. Kendrick made my life a living hell, and I could do nothing to stop it. He was the one person I wish had died at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Does that make me a bad person?” 

“What? No, you have endured more than any one person should ever have to.” 

“As of late, you've been there to help pick up the pieces.” 

Cullen shook his head sadly and rested his hands on the balustrade. “I wish I'd seen it sooner,” he said softly, rapped his knuckles against the stone. “No, I wish I'd known the kind of man he would turn out to be a decade ago. Before he ever had the chance to hurt anyone.” 

Grace shifted closer, lightly grazed her fingers over the back of his gloved hand. “You couldn't have known, and what would you have done? You aren't a cold-blooded murderer, Cullen. You stopped him from ever hurting anyone else again. You've done the world a great service.” 

Cullen stared down at her hand, barely able to feel the pressure of her fingers, but he could feel her heat, wished his hand were bare. He wanted to turn his hand over, lace their fingers together, press a kiss to her knuckles. “Blackwall, he hasn't been... untoward, has he?” he said in a sudden rush, drawing his hand away. “ I imagine in the aftermath of Haven, Kendrick... I would hate to see someone try to take advantage of you. You seem to generally like him, and so far, he has proven himself a good man...” Cullen trailed off. Grace had cocked her head to the side and was staring at him as if he'd grown another head.

“Take advantage...”

“I know you've been spending a lot of time with him,” he continued.

“Are you spying on me, Commander?”

“What? No! Cole,” Cullen sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “He shows up in my office, with _updates_.”

Grace clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh that was bubbling up. “I'm sorry,” she said between her fingers. “I'll speak with him. I have told him before to leave you alone. I'll be more specific this time.” 

Cullen shook his head. “No, it's... alright. I have started to grow accustomed to his appearing. He worries about you, you know.”

That killed all of Grace's amusement at the thought of Cullen believing there was something between her and Blackwall. “I know.” She ducked her head and stared down at her hands as she smoothed them over the front of her dress. “He worries about you, too.”

“Why? I'm fine, there is nothing-”

“You stopped taking the lyrium.” 

His jaw clenched and he turned his face away. “You needn't worry. I've asked Cassandra to watch me. To make sure that it doesn't effect the Inquisition.” 

“Screw the Inquisition,” Grace burst out, jerking Cullen's head back to face her. “How is it affecting you? It is the reason for the headaches and the sleepless nights isn't it? Or at least a big part of it.”

“I gave everything I was to being a Templar,” his voice was quiet, emphatic. “You have seen how far the Templars have fallen. Hardly anything remains of what I saw of them as a child. Of what I wanted to be. Templars are supposed to protect, not instill fear.”

“You don't, Cullen.” 

“No? You said it yourself, that when you first arrived at Haven you were terrified of me.”

“In my defense, I told you I was terrified of everyone.” 

“He told you I wouldn't believe you.” Grace blanched, took a step back and gripped the edge of the short concrete wall. “He told you that if you were to come to me, I wouldn't believe you, by the mere fact that I am a Templar and you are a Mage. You believed him.” 

She saw his nostrils flare, his hands clenched at his sides, looking ready to do grievous harm, and Grace wasn't remotely scared of him. Because she knew Cullen was nothing like Kendrick. 

“You shouldn't have had to come to me,” he continued, began pacing like a caged animal. “I should have seen it. But I let my jealousy blind me to the fact that you were hurting. It won't happen again. Ever. You will be safe. If that means removing every single Templar from Skyhold, then I will do it.” 

Grace was dumbfounded. Jealousy? Curse Blackwall and his ridiculous suggestions. “There is nothing more than friendship between Blackwall and I.” Cullen froze, his back was to her, his hand in his hair. She wished she could see his face, see his reaction. “Comparable to Rowan. His earlier actions were an attempt to get a rise out of you,” she felt her cheeks heating, Cullen still hadn't moved. “due to some foolish notion that you are in love with me.” She said the last words in a rush, nearly tripping over them in an attempt to get them out before they locked in her throat. 

Cullen's hand fell to his side, and his normally perfectly arranged hair was disheveled. But still, he hadn't turned. “Most of the Templars at Skyhold have treated me fine,” if not respectfully, there was no blatant disdain. “You needn't worry. Both Dorian and Solas have offered to help me hone my magic, to keep it in check at the very least, and I believe I'll ask Cassandra to help me train again. In the unlikely event that someone like Kendrick arrives at Skyhold, I know that there are people who I can trust now.” She bit her lip, wondered why he wouldn't turn around, wouldn't look at her. Because Blackwall had suggested he was in love with her? “I'll also be sure to correct Blackwall's assumption. He and Sera have spent too much time together. Trouble the both of them,” she said with forced laughter.

Still nothing. Grace glanced around and wished her heart didn't ache like it did. She knew that Cullen didn't see her in such a manner. She was a mage, to be protected. The Herald, the Inquisitor. Nothing more. “Please, take something for your head, Cullen. You needn't suffer as penance for any sins you believe you committed.” She gathered her skirt in her hands as best she could, thankfully after having run all over the mansion she'd begun to get used to the weight and fluff about her feet. At least they had allowed her to wear her boots, and she hadn't been subjected to any of the fashionable heels she'd seen adorning the other women and some men's feet. 

She wondered how much longer they would have to stay. Grace had heard that the parties had sometimes lasted all night long, and she honestly didn't believe she would last that long. She began making her way across the balcony, considered going to the grand library where she'd found Cole lurking earlier. 

“My lady, wait, please,” Cullen called before she'd made it to the door. She turned and long moments passed between them. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?” He extended his hand toward her.

Her cheeks flushed. “I can't-I don't-” she stumbled over her words.

He dropped his hand and she saw his cheeks go pink.

“I don't know how,” she said in a rush. Because she wanted to. She felt beautiful in her dress and for just one night she wanted to pretend that she was normal. “I don't know how to dance, that is why I've refused every other offer. I can hardly imagine the Inquisitor stomping on the feet of her partners or tripping over her own dress would have made a good impression.” 

Slowly, Cullen held his hand out to her again. “I'm not master of the art, but I would not object if you stomped on my feet.” 

Grace reached out, took his hand as she stepped closer, let him draw her in. He curled his hand around hers, then caught her other one and brought it to his shoulder before resting his free hand on the curve of her waist. She immediately stepped on his foot. “Oh, Maker, I'm sorry-” she jerked her head forward, trying to inspect the damage, slammed her forehead into his jaw. “Oh,” frustrated tears welled up in her eyes and she started to pull back. 

“Grace,” Cullen caught her chin, tipping it up with his knuckles. Then he smiled and Grace lost all sense of herself. Of time and reason and her limbs. He brought her hand back to his shoulder, settled his hand on her waist again. He murmured the steps to her, never breaking eye contact, and after a few false starts, it was suddenly as if they danced all the time. Cullen swept her around the balcony, paying no mind to the music coming from the grand hall. 

All that existed was the two of them. “I didn't get the opportunity to properly compliment you earlier.”

“You should compliment Leliana and Josie. They made me look like this, with the dress, the makeup,” she was smiling at him. 

“No,” he shook his head. “It has nothing to do with the dress or the makeup. They are lovely, but you,” he paused, still searching for a befitting word. “Radiant doesn't begin to do you justice.” 

 

Grace ached, but it was the utterly pleasant sort. She and Cullen had danced for what must have been hours, and she had never in her life been happier. Cullen may not have feelings for her, but he didn't hate her. He wasn't repulsed by her past, so that was something. Leliana had finally come to fetch them so they could return to the estate where they were staying and informed them that the others had already departed. Grace had struggled with her dress and getting into the carriage, as it seemed her dress had grown tenfold. 

Cullen had helped her and settled onto the seat beside her before he began chatting with Leliana. At some point, Grace had drifted off to sleep and was drowsily roused by low murmurs. She'd blinked slowly, and Cullen's jaw had come into focus. “Hmm,” she murmured and he looked down at her, flashed her a half smile. 

“Leliana and Josie will be in to help you get ready for bed.” 

“Not necessary,” she slurred the words, patted his chest and realized she'd curled her fingers around the front of his shirt. Turning her face she pressed it against his shoulder.

“Completely necessary, else you'll likely be suffocated by all these layers of fabric by morning,” he told her with a gentle laugh. 

Cracking one eye open she peered down at her dress, a cloud of red fabric obscured most of her view. “Alas,” she mumbled. “You're right.” The room he carried her into was dimly lit and he settled her down to sit on the edge of the bed before straightening. 

“My lady,” he gave her a short bow and that half smile. 

“Cullen,” her hand shot out and grasped his. “Thank you, for tonight. For teaching me to dance and... for everything.” 

He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a barely there kiss against her knuckles. “The pleasure was all mine, Lady Trevelyan.” 

“Cullen,” she said disapprovingly. 

His mouth quirked again. “Goodnight, Grace.”

“Goodnight, Cullen.” He left and soon behind him Josie and Leliana appeared, helped her strip out of the dress, and release her hair from the confines of pins and curls. Crawling into bed, she sighed as she curled up onto her side. She knew that she would never get to experience a night like that again, wanted desperately to sketch out moments. Absently, she wondered if she'd get to keep the dress. She could wear it around Skyhold. 

A tired laugh burbled out of her. Just a little while longer, she thought, she'd pretend she grew up in a different world, in another life where she wasn't a mage, Cullen wasn't a Templar, and there wasn't a madman hellbent on destroying the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they are just a little bit _closer_...


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I spent the weekend at a ComicCon, running around dressed as my Inquisitor, so I was a little distracted.

The sketchbook had shown up in among her belongings, along with a new package of charcoal. They were on their journey back to Skyhold, and the first evening they stopped to make camp, Grace opened her bag and there it was. Tears had stung her eyes as she stared at it. A glance over her shoulder and she spotted Cullen with the troops. She knew he wouldn't have gone through her things. “Cole?” she whispered, but he didn't appear. Regardless of how it ended up in her pack, she was grateful. She just held it to her chest for a long time.

Later that night, she sat by the fire, utterly absorbed in her sketchbook. Grace was so intent, that she didn't even hear him approach. She was trying to capture the look on Cullen's face. That little half-smile, the kindness in his eyes, the warmth, when he'd asked her to dance. She couldn't do it justice.

“Huh,” Dorian peered over her shoulder. She jerked, slammed the notebook closed and stared at him with wide eyes.

“How much did you see?”

“Nothing naughty, I am disappointed. You could have at least drawn him without his shirt, glistening with sweat maybe.” 

Grace's cheeks went bright pink. “Dorian,” she hissed. 

“What? Our Commander is quite the specimen.” 

Her gaze darted to where Cullen stood. He glanced at her, eyes met, and Grace jerked her head back around to glare at Dorian. “Speak one word of this, and so help me, Dorian.”

He grinned at her. “Now, now. No need to get violent. I was just appreciating the eye candy. He is all yours.” 

Grace shook her head, then with a sigh, she opened the book to allow Dorian a proper look. “No, he isn't.” 

“Is it the Templar thing because of that bastard Kendrick? I am sorry none of us saw it sooner.”

She waved it off. “Cullen is nothing like him. And don't be sorry. I'm so sick of everyone apologizing for it. It happened. It's over. I'm fine.” Dorian raised a brow and she shrugged. “Okay, so I'm not fine, but I'm not this fragile thing that will break with the slightest provocation.” She had been, at the beginning. But over the course of the months she'd been with the Inquisition, even despite Kendrick's arrival, she wasn't afraid of her own shadow any longer. She was determined to be stronger, to be better. What other choice did she have?

“So if it isn't the Templar thing,” Dorian said, flipping through the pages of her notebook, all blank save for a few rough sketches she'd done before starting the one of Cullen. “Why so hesitant?”

Grace crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. “Have you and Blackwall decided to conspire against me? Cullen does not harbor any secret feelings for me.”

“You're right,” he agreed and for three whole seconds, Grace was relieved. “He isn't very secretive about it.” 

Grace was suddenly very tempted to reach out, grab her notebook back and smack Dorian upside the head with it. “I already spoke with Cullen and I told him I would correct this notion that Blackwall, and now _you_ seem to have. He does not have feelings of that nature for me.” She reached out, plucked the notebook from him, was proud that she didn't hit him with it, and turned the page away from the drawing of Cullen. 

 

Cullen was riding at the rear of their not so little caravan making their way back to Skyhold. They weren't far now, would easily make it before the sun began to sink in the sky. Ahead he could see the top of Grace's head, the sun glinting off her copper hair where she rode flanked by Dorian and Blackwall.

She had started drawing again. The cursed sketchbook that he'd gotten for her, gifted her with, only to have her discard it when he insulted her. He didn't blame her. He'd been an idiot. But when he'd recruited Cole to help him give it to her again, he'd been unsure of what her reaction would be. 

When Cullen had seen her sitting by the fire, curved over the notebook, her pinned haphazardly away from her face as she drew, he had felt relieved. He didn't forgive himself for Kendrick, for the suffering she'd gone through. Would never forgive himself. But seeing her do something that she loved again, that obviously brought her a modicum of peace went far to soothe his soul. 

Grace broke away from the group and then Dorian fell back in the group to ride beside him. “Where is she going?”

“She's nervous about meeting her brothers and niece,” Dorian said.

Without a word or second thought, Cullen followed. By the time he caught up, she was standing in front of her horse. Foreheads touching, she was petting her and murmuring softly. Grace tipped her face to the side to peer at Cullen as he dismounted. “Was it Dorian or Blackwall who told you to follow me?”

“Dorian told me you were nervous.” Cullen moved closer to her, looked her over. She looked better than she had in months. Her injuries were all finally healed, though her face did bear the scars from her run in with Corypheus. 

“How long has it been since you've seen your sister?”

“Since I left to join the Templars. We do exchange letters, though not nearly enough in Mia's opinion.” His mouth quirked up at the thought of his sister. Mia would like Grace, he thought.

Grace nuzzled her horse and let her eyes slip shut. “I have not seen my brothers in sixteen years. Rowan said they missed me, but... what if they only said that for his sake? Because he's Rowan.” 

“What were they like the last time you saw them?”

“I caught the barn on fire. That was how we found out about my magic. We were shoveling hay. Caleb was being a brat, I don't remember what he'd done, but I was so mad at him...” Grace felt the magic burning beneath her skin at the memory. She stepped back from her horse and wrapped her arms around her waist. “We were able to put the fire out easily enough, but days later, the boys were gone and the Templars came.”

“Is there anything I can do, Grace, to make this easier for you?”

 _'Dance with me,'_ she barely kept the words in her mouth. “No, it's fine. I'm just being...” she gave her head a shake and walked around her horse. She reached up to grip the saddle. “I am just being ridiculous. It doesn't matter if they like me or not.” Shouldn't she be used to that by now? She would grin and bear it. Do the best that she could to have a relationship with Caleb, Alexander, and Nora. Her magic prickled along her skin, and then she felt Cullen step up behind her.

“Grace,” Cullen's voice was soft, his hands a gentle pressure on her waist. “Nothing about you is ridiculous. If you aren't ready, you aren't ready. The cabin we stayed at... before. It isn't far.” 

Her eyes slid shut. Tempting. It was so tempting. She wanted to lean back into his chest, have him wrap his arms around her. He'd press his lips to her ear and tell her everything would be fine. She would believe him because Cullen wouldn't lie to her.

His hands tightened suddenly and he leaned closer. “Cullen?” her voice caught.

“Don't move,” his voice was a gruff whisper. Her heart skipped a beat. She was not afraid of Cullen.

“What is it?” she whispered back, eyes seeing nothing but her horse. Then she heard it. What sounded like hundreds of feet marching through the woods. 

“Grace, get on your horse. I want you to ride ahead-”

“You're are an absolute idiot, Cullen if you think for one second I'm just leaving you here.” 

He squeezed her hips as if he were getting ready to toss her over the horse himself. “You will-” he started. Grace twisted around in his grasp, ignored him as he tried to convince her it was the best plan. She peered over his shoulder, saw nothing. Her hands rested against his biceps as she stood on tip-toe to see better. “Grace,” he hissed, exasperation evident. “If anything happens to you-”

Then she saw them. Her eyes went wide and then she let out a quiet snort of laughter. Grace clamped her hand over her mouth and stared at Cullen, but she couldn't hold back the giggling. Brow furrowed he looked back, saw what she saw and sighed. Grace had her face pressed into the fur of his mantle laughing hysterically. “I'm glad you find my concern for you so amusing,” he deadpanned, but he was glad to see her laugh. He reached out, caught his horses reins with one hand just as the herd of druffalo began making their way through the clearing. His other hand still rested on Grace's waist. 

Finally, her laughter died down and she lifted her head, wiping at her damp eyes. “It's sweet,” she told him, petting the fur of his mantle back into place. “But if you ever put yourself in harm's way for my sake, I will never forgive you.” 

“Grace,” Cullen started, but she shook her head.

“Come on, let's go before my brother sends out a search party.” She turned around and climbed up onto her horse. Cullen's hand rested on top of hers on the pommel of the saddle.

“Are you sure you're ready?” 

Grace smiled. “No, I'm not. But putting it off isn't going to make it any easier.” She waited as Cullen mounted his horse and together, side by side, they made their way to Skyhold. “I think I'm going to throw up,” Grace muttered just before they reached the gate. She could see people milling about. They would be there. Rowan, Alexander, and Caleb. Nora too. “What if they hate me? I know I said I didn't care, but I do. Cullen, what if they don't like me?”

“I don't see how anyone could hate you,” Cullen said straightening his shoulders. “They'd be fools.” 

Then she saw them. Rowan was pacing, Caleb was leaning against a tree, arms over his chest, head lowered. Alexander stood staring at the gate, though. Their eyes locked and he started running. Grace scrambled to get off her horse, heart pounding in her chest. Cullen caught her as she dismounted, and then Alexander had his arms around her. He'd lifted her clean off her feet and spun her. “Gracie, Gracie, Gracie,” he murmured over and over again. 

“Miss me too?” Caleb said tugging her away from Alexander. 

“Of course not, you brat,” she said with a sob and threw her arms around him. She could see Cullen and Rowan standing near each other, they were speaking but they were both facing her, watching the reunion. The corner of Cullen's mouth quirked up and Grace felt her heart give a little kick. Pulling back she cupped Caleb's cheek with one hand, and Alexander's with the other. “You two look exactly the same,” they didn't. Not even close. They were men now, no longer the little boys she knew. But they were still _her brothers_. 

Alexander touched her chin, just below the scar. “So which one do I need to punch? It's Cullen, right? I heard-” Grace gripped Alexander's ear and tugged, hard.

“Don't you dare. Banish whatever thought you just had, or I'll sic Cassandra on you.” 

Caleb grinned. “She's the one that Ro likes.” 

“Yeah? You two are such gossips. You'll get along famously here. But don't think for an instant that just because Rowan likes her she'll be nice to you. Trust me, I know.” She gave both of their ears a tug for good measure and then stepped back. “Where is-” 

“Da! Da! Da!” A little girl, with light red curls, and chubby cheeks was skip-hopping her way across the courtyard. “Look! Look what the Warden ga'e me!” She was brandishing the wooden sword Grace had seen Blackwall working on, and also a wooden shield with the Inquisition's emblem carved into it. 

“Did you say thank you?”

“A'course I did,” she frowned at him, indignant. “Caleb!” she turned around until she spotted her uncle. “Come and play wi' me!” 

Tears stung Grace's eyes. Caleb hooked an arm around her shoulder, tugged her into his side. “Come on, let's go introduce you to your niece. She's just like you.” Rowan was crouched in front of Nora, as she showed him her sword and shield. “Hey, Nor,” Caleb called to her. “Come and meet your aunt Gracie.” 

Nora looked at Grace and then ducked behind Rowan, peeking out from behind his leg has he stood up. “Come on, Nora.”

“Da talks abou' you all the time,” Nora said, still not coming out from behind his leg. “Said you went away when you were little. Where'd you go?”

“A place called a Circle tower. I... it's where mages, people who can do magic, go.”

“What kind'a magic?” 

Grace balled up her hands and stuck them behind her back, worried. They had an audience. Some were trying to be nonchalant about it, but others were just outright staring. “Not much,” she said with a shrug. “I was never very good at it, you see?” Taking a deep breath she sunk down onto her knees. “But I can do this,” she said and brought her hands back out. _Please don't let me screw this up. Please don't let me screw this up,_ she begged silently as she focused on conjuring the mini snow storm between her hands. 

Nora's eyes went wide and she leaned out farther. “Oh, look Da, look what she did.”

“I can see it,” Rowan said. 

Grace faltered, clasped her hands together and held them against her stomach. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have.” She straightened back up and kept her gaze averted. “I should go, war room meeting,” she waved her hand off in that general direction before she started to make a quick escape. 

“Grace,” Rowan caught her arm, tugged her to him and cupped her face between his palms. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, or sorry for.” She tried to shake her head, but Rowan tightened his hold ever so slightly. “No, I am so proud of you,” he said vehemently. “You have no idea. All that you have been through. We are all proud of you.” Then she was flanked by her brothers, completely surrounded. 

Something tugged at her pant leg, she glanced down and saw Nora had squeezed in between Rowan and Alexander and was looking up at her. “Can you do the magic thin' again?” 

Letting out a choked laugh, Grace nodded, wiped at her eyes as she pushed her brother's away good-naturedly. “Yeah, I can.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, truly, thank you so much for reading this. I know my writing isn't all that great, so the fact that people are still reading despite that makes me very happy.

Grace couldn't sleep. The day had left her emotionally drained. She had spent nearly the entire day with her brothers and Nora, who was slowly starting to warm up to her. Leaving only for a short time to attend the war meeting to discuss Halamshiral and what would come next. 

As she walked the ramparts, Grace noticed a light burning in Cullen's office. It was late. He should be sleeping. She headed for the door and quietly pushed it open. He wasn't there. Maybe he'd gone to bed and hadn't snuffed the candle? She glanced toward the ladder that lead to his private quarters, then back to the desk. Grace decided she'd just blow out the candle and hope he'd gone to bed already. 

“Cullen!” she gasped in surprise before dropping down to her knees beside him. “Oh, Maker, Cullen? Are you alright?” 

“Grace,” he shook his head. “No, leave. Go away.”

He was on his hands and knees, head dropped low. “You're hurting,” she murmured, hands hovering. She'd keep her magic in check, she told herself, and lightly touched his face. “Oh, you're burning up,” 

“I don't want you to see me like this,” his voice was a rasp, he tried to jerk away from her.

“Oh, hush,” Grace chided around the lump in her throat. Shifting, she sat with her back against the side of the desk and eased Cullen down to his side so that he lay with his head against her thigh. 

“Grace,” he pleaded. “I don't-” 

“You're fine,” she told him, fingers carefully brushing his hair back. Oh, how she ached to heal, to be able to take away all of his pain. “You're safe, I've got you,” she murmured quietly. Cullen peered up at her, then squeezed his eyes shut tightly and turned his head, pressing his face into her stomach. With one hand she reached up, sent a burst of ice toward where she hoped the candle sat, and then suddenly the room was dark. 

Long moments passed, Grace's eyes slowly adjusted to the trickle of moonlight seeping into the room. Cullen held one of her hands tight in one of his, while she continued to stroke her fingers through his hair. “Cullen? Will you let me help?” she kept her voice soft, not wanting to inflict more pain.

“You know I trust you,” he told her, tilting his head back, he looked up at her.

“But I know you're feelings on magic as well,” she told him, and finally allowed a bit of her magic out. Just enough to help soothe the pain. “I would never use magic on you without asking,” His eyes slid shut, and she could see the relief clearly on his face. Grace didn't know how long it was before Cullen slipped into a doze. It obviously was not peaceful, but she hoped it was at least less painful than being awake. 

 

As the sunlight began to seep into the room, Grace blinked several times. She must have fallen asleep. Cullen still lay on his side, face pressed into her stomach, fingers curled loosely around hers. Her legs were asleep, her back ached and she was exhausted. How long had she spent easing her magic over him? She wasn't sure. But obviously, it had helped. The creases in his forehead had faded and the fever had broken. His hand tightened around hers and his eyes flew open. 

Cullen blinked several times and was surprised by the fact that his head didn't feel as if it had been split open. The rest of his body on the other hand. Fingers were in his hair, and the pillow beneath his head was not a pillow. Turning his head slowly, waiting for it to simply fall off, he looked up at Grace who smiled shyly down at him. 

“How's the head?” she asked softly. 

“Maker,” he breathed out, disjointed memories from the night before, her finding him and soothing him, coming back. The room was steadily growing lighter, so that meant that she had stayed with him all night, while he slept on the floor. “Maker,” he said again, scrambling to sit up and then to stand. Every muscle in his body protested. He was thankful that at least he'd shed his armor before he'd passed out on the floor, or he'd be in much worse shape. “Grace, I am so sorry,” he held his hands out to her, to help her to her feet, only to have her collapse against him the moment she was upright. “Are you hurt? Did I-? Maker,” 

“My leg is asleep,” she told him, touched his jaw, forced him to look at her. “I'm fine. You slept, not exactly peacefully, but you slept. Nothing is wrong with me.” 

“I-” he coughed, wanted to turn away, to conceal his embarrassment, but he was supporting most of her weight. “I confess,” he told her softly. “I never wanted you, or anyone, to see me like that. This is my choice, no one else should have to bear any burden because of it.” 

“You're not alone, Cullen,” she told him, stroking her thumb along his jaw, feeling the rough stubble. “You don't have to go through any of it alone. I want to help, I'm here, I'll always be here for you.” 

He leaned down, rested his forehead against hers. “You will never cease to amaze me,” he murmured. 

“Commander,” the sound of the door opening registered a moment too late. Cullen jerked his head up, stared at Jim.

“Out,” he barked, and the man stuttered an apology before quickly retreating. 

“You know that everyone will know about this before breakfast,” Grace said, reluctantly pulling out of Cullen's embrace. “And that it will have details about the sordid tryst we are obviously having.” She watched Cullen's cheeks turn pink. 

“No, it will not. They will not say such things about you,” Cullen began yanking on his chest plate, and bracers. “I won't allow it.” 

When he reached for his sword, Grace reached out and caught his hand. “Maybe you should leave that behind,” she suggested, but then quickly pulled her hand back from his. Gloveless, bare fingers that had held hers all night. The glove was cold and the man in front of her was very much the Commander. “Or not,” she tucked a lock of hair back from her face and headed for the door that lead to the rotunda, she imagined Dorian already knew. “I apologize for any embarrassment this causes you, I'll try to quell the rumors as best I can.” Not that Dorian listened to her. 

“Causes me?” she caught Cullen's surprised words before the door clicked shut behind her. Her steps were quick as she made her way along the stone walkway. 

“Hmm,” Dorian said with a raised eyebrow from where he sat sprawled across his chair, book in hand. “Same clothes as yesterday, hair disheveled, and witnesses say you were spotted slipping into the Commander's office in the wee hours of the night. Only to be caught in a loving embrace with a half dressed Cullen.” 

Grace's hands were on her hips by the time Dorian finished. “Andraste preserve me,” she muttered. “Does it matter that that is not even remotely close to what happened?” He flashed her a grin. “Of course not. What will it take to keep you from telling anyone else about this?”

“My lips are sealed,” he told her, tapping a finger to his lips.

Grace stared at Dorian for long moments. “Everyone in Skyhold already knows, don't they?”

“The rumors started last night when you went into his office, and the lights went out and you never came out.” 

Grace's mouth fell open. “Oh, oh Maker.” She pressed her hands to her face. What was worse? She thought, everyone knowing Cullen's secret suffering? Or them believing something was going on between them? It only bothered her on Cullen's behalf. 

 

“You know I'm going to kill him, right?” Rowan said as he sunk down beside Grace at one of the tables in the main hall. Everyone was staring at her, she heard the whispers. Couldn't she just have a few weeks of peace? Without one rumor or another being spread about her? 

“You cannot kill the Commander of the Inquisition troops. I need him. I mean, we, the Inquisition, needs him.” 

“He hurts you-” 

“Ro,” Grace sighed and slid her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder. “There isn't anything between Cullen and me, the people here are just bored.”

“So you weren't in his office all night?”

“I was,” she said, but then quickly continued. “But it isn't what you think. It isn't anything like that. I swear to you, he doesn't see me like that.” 

Rowan looked down at her, then glanced up as Alexander and Caleb came to join them.

“So we're going to kill him, right?” Alexander asked.

Grace shoved Rowan away and threw her hands up. “Oh for the love of- ugh!” She stood up from the table, shoving her half eaten plate toward Caleb, who hadn't said anything yet. “Nothing-” 

“Hey, Inquisitor, you got a minute?” Varric appeared and Grace was grateful for the reprieve.

“Yes, please,” Grace said and then quickly followed Varric away from the main hall. 

“Things have been a bit chaotic around here, I have a friend who had some dealings with Corypheus in the past. She might have some insight.” 

“Really?” Grace would be glad to have even an inkling of help. She had no idea what she was doing. So far she'd managed okay, but she didn't think her luck would hold out without a lot of help. “Who is it?”

Varric glanced around, then shook his head. “I, uh, it's better to keep this quiet.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to state for the record, that I gave myself nightmares while plotting this chapter out...
> 
> Freaking zombies.

Corpses. There were corpses walking out of the water. Grace had always thought lakes were peaceful, calm and serene. No longer. If she never saw a body of water bigger than a bathtub again for the rest of her life she would die happy. They were in Crestwood, had met with Hawke's Warden friend, Stroud, but now, of course, they had set upon another task. 

Drain the lake, close the rift. Save Crestwood from the undead horde. She didn't want to look down, but she had to, or risk a misstep, as they walked along a rickety old dock. The water lapped at the wood under her feet. No one else seemed nearly as bothered by the whole situation as she was. It's fine, she thought, not a big deal. Just get it done and you can go back to Skyhold. Never see another reanimated corpse again. Save for the ones that Dorian used in the heat of a fight. 

Grace didn't even have the chance to scream. The rotted hand shot up from the water and wrapped around her ankle. Flesh falling off the bone. It pulled and the last thing she heard were the startled cries of her companions before the water swallowed her.

It was as if her body were suddenly made of ice. Trapped, frozen, she tried to kick, to push herself back toward the surface of the water, but she had no sense of direction. How far had the thing dragged her down, away from the dock? Lungs burning, she could see nothing save for the faint glow of her own hand beneath the water. Relax, she tried to tell herself, maybe she'd float to the top. Or maybe whatever had grabbed her would wrap its bony fingers around her and drag her down further. 

She felt something brush against her leg, her stomach, her arm. Grace reached out with her left hand, fingers brushed against something soft, then hard. She screamed as the flesh fell away from the skull. She tried to shove it away, desperate, but those long bony fingers had a hold of her, pulled at her hair, her face.

Then another hand grabbed her. “I got you, Boss,” Iron Bull said, dragging her from the water. She was still screaming, she didn't think she'd ever stop. Only when the corpse had been incinerated by Dorian was she able to quiet down to a low keen. It had touched her. She looked down, could see the bruises on her arms, through the tears in the fabric of her shirt. She was soaked through with water and slime and- she gagged, began heaving. Her mouth had been open in that water. Her eyes. She'd never be clean again. 

“We should get her back to camp,” Dorian said, voice low, to Iron Bull. 

“No,” Grace said, struggling to get to her feet. She'd started shaking, shivering, couldn't stop. Her stomach heaved again, but she managed not to start throwing up again. “I'm fine. I want to get this done. I want to finish this. Get the hell out of this Maker forsaken place.” 

“Boss, you're-”

“Fine,” she bit out the word. “Let's go finish this.” Her hair felt like ice on her back, sticking to her face. Grace tried not to think about it. The corpse. The flesh. Her stomach revolted and there was no stopping it this time, she doubled over and retched for long minutes. 

Dorian offered her a waterskin, but she flinched away from it. “No, I'm fine.” 

 

“What happened?” Cassandra demanded upon their return to the main camp. 

Grace headed straight for the fire, desperate to be warm. The shivering had only gotten worse. Which made sense since she was clad in soaking wet clothes and had insisted they continue their search for the fade rift. They had found it. Closed it. Discovered that the mayor had been the one responsible for opening the dam and drowning an entire village. “A corpse tried to kill me,” Grace said getting as close to the fire as she could. The toes of her boots rested just a hairsbreadth from a log and she curled over the flames as best she could. 

“Pulled her off the dock. Ice water. Sodden flesh, frozen bone-”

“Cole!” Grace snapped. “Please,” she said, her voice softer now. “Please, don't do that.” Closing her eyes she drew in a steady breath, inhaling the scent of smoke and wood. She stayed like that for a long time, before Scout Harding sidled up to her with a pail of hot water and a rag. 

Gratefully, Grace took it and slunk off to her tent. She stripped out of her destroyed clothes, and used the rag dipped in the nearly scalding water clean herself up as best she could. Not cold. No ice. No flesh. No bone. Once she'd cleaned up as best she could, Grace reemerged and immediately went back to the fire. 

Cassandra sat down beside her a few minutes later. “Are you alright?” she asked.

_You try getting yanked into a lake by a killer corpse and then you tell me how you are_ , the words were on the tip of her tongue, but she kept them back. She'd promised she'd be better. Make an effort to be friendly with allies of the Inquisition. “I'm fine,” Grace told her, clutching a mug of Scout Harding had given her. She wondered if Scout Harding knew what it was like to be nearly drowned by a corpse. Of course not, Harding was too quick, too tough, to be caught off guard like Grace had been. “What are your intentions toward my brother,” Grace blinked in surprise at her own voice. She'd wanted to know if there was something going on between them. The cold must have gone to her head, she thought. 

“E-excuse me?” Cassandra said, managing not to sputter, almost. 

“Rowan, my idiot brother, well, the eldest of my idiot brothers. The one who obviously has a thing for you.” 

“I don't see how that is any of your business.” 

Grace turned her head to look at Cassandra who had straightened up and was looking straight ahead. “Not my business? He is my brother. He has been through...hell. He obviously has feelings for you, be it just lustful attraction or something more. I don't know. But it most certainly is my business. I will not stand by and watch you hurt him.”

Surprise knocked the rod out of Cassandra's spine. She turned her face to meet Grace's gaze and Grace could see the shock written across her face. “You think I would hurt him?”

“I think you're a warrior, who does things for the greater good before ever taking a moment to do something selfish. My brother is not a warrior. All he'd wanted from life was to marry Nora's mother and raise a family together. I can't exactly picture you as the doting wife, pregnant, worrying about what the cook will make for the dinner party.” 

“You are absolutely right,” Cassandra said, before looking away. “That isn't the life for me. I have much more important things to do.” 

Grace's heart hurt suddenly. Ached for Cassandra, for her brother. She opened her mouth to apologize but Cassandra's words cut her off.

“And what are your intentions with our Commander?”

Grace sighed heavily. “I have no intentions. I don't know how many ways to say it. Should I make a sign? Hit people upside the head with it whenever it comes in question? There is nothing between the Commander and I. He does not see me like that. We have become...” she trailed off. They were more than just mere associates and allies. But were they friends? Precious few of those, she had. “We're friends. That is all.” Suddenly exhausted, Grace got to her feet and started for her tent. “I am sorry, Cassandra. I didn't mean to imply that you aren't the type meant for a family. But I do think you're not the type who would stand by when there is turmoil and you believe you can help.” 

Ducking into her tent, she burrowed under her blankets, wrapped them around her as best she could, desperate to feel warm, to stop the subtle shivering that as she lay down became full on shaking. 

 

The return trip to Skyhold was a blur for Grace. She'd had nightmares about the corpses every night, and she was still cold. So cold. “You have a fever,” Cassandra told her as they walked from the stables. 

“I'm fine,” Grace snapped at her. 

“You cannot keep this up. You'll simply fall over if you don't stop and rest.” 

Grace whirled on her. “You still think I'm weak. I'll never be strong. I'll never compare to you. But I will not let some stupid corpse beat me!” 

Cassandra's eyes widened. “I never said-”

“Yes, you did. You thought I was weak because I couldn't kill. Because I couldn't fight. You still think it because it still doesn't come easily to me. I struggle with every single death. Every fight. But I know I don't have a choice. People are depending on me, and I have to be better. I _will_ be better!” Grace turned on her heel and dashed away the hot tears she felt trickle down her cheeks. She'd never be warm again, she thought as she stormed up the stairs to the main hall and down to the war room.

Grace had been looking forward to a hot bath once they'd returned to Skyhold until one of her nightmares had consisted of one of those skeleton hands with bits of tendon and flesh barely hanging on reached out of the tub and dragged her under. 

“We need to meet Stroud at the...” her mind blanked, she stared at the map. Where were they supposed to meet him? The Wardens. They had to find out what was going on with the Wardens. 

“Inquisitor?” Josephine said voice laced with concern. 

“The Western Approach,” Grace finally managed. Sand. Hot. Dry. No water. No corpses. “We need to get to the Western Approach and find the Wardens.” 

“Are you feeling alright, Inquisitor?”

Grace looked at Josephine, but her head hurt and it was hard to focus. “I'm fine. How-how soon can we leave?” She reached up, touched her temple. Elfroot, she thought. No, maybe spindleweed? She'd need to speak with Adan. He'd have something that would help. 

“You're not going anywhere.”

Jerking in surprise, Grace looked up to see Cullen standing beside her. When had he come around the table? “Yes, I am. I need to go. I need to-” Cullen brushed his fingers along her cheek and she flinched. “Your hands are like ice.” 

“You're burning up,” he told her, but she shook her head. 

“No, no, I'm fine,” she insisted.

“Dorian told me she was pulled into the lake. Nearly two minutes, it took for them to find her.”

“Pulled in by what?” Cullen asked. Grace knew that he wasn't talking to her, even though he was looking straight at her. 

“A corpse,” Leliana answered.

“I'm standing right here! Don't talk about me like I'm not here!” She reached out and braced her hands on the edge of the war table. “I need to go. I need to get to the Wardens. Have to help.” 

“You need to rest,” Cullen said and then she felt the weight of his hand on her lower back. “Grace, you're ill.”

“No,” she persisted. “I have to help the Wardens. I'll be fine.” 

 

Rowan watched curiously as Cassandra swung blow after blow on the practice dummy. He'd watched her before, enjoyed it immensely. But she was usually controlled, methodical. This was almost frenzied. Her next blow, accompanied by a yell of rage and cleaved the head right off the thing. Her shoulders slumped and her chest was heaving. But she hadn't put away the sword. “At the risk of being the next one to lose his head,” Rowan said, cautiously stepping closer.

Cassandra whirled around, glared at him and then thrust her sword into its sheath. “What do you want.” The words may have formed a question, but her tone did not.

Rowan's brow furrowed and he just watched her for a few moments. “Are you alright? Did something happen...?” The two of them had been on friendly terms, he was tentatively trying to court her. 

“Your sister is ill. You should see to her,” Cassandra bit out the words.

Rowan nodded slowly. He'd seen Grace on her way to the War Room, she'd been pale, but she also had been accompanied by Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine, so he knew she was in good hands. He imagined Cassandra thought he'd immediately rush to his sister, so she was trying to get rid of him. “I'm sure she's fine,” he said, taking a step closer. “Now, tell me what's going on.” 

“I will never be whatever it is that you want me to be,” Cassandra snapped at him, then turned away. She stalked over to pick up the fallen head of the dummy, keeping her back to him.

He waited, but she didn't turn around. “What exactly do you think I expect from you?” he asked, utterly confused. 

“I am a warrior, Rowan. Not some pampered mistress.” 

_Grace_ , he thought. It was payback for Cullen, whom he had every intention of speaking to, to find out just what was going on. He shifted closer, within easy range if she decided to pull out her sword and strike him down. He hoped that she wouldn't. “You're an amazing warrior, I'm fairly certain I've never seen a woman so self-assured, so strong, I would never ask you to be anything other than yourself. I would never want you to be anything but yourself. I think you're perfect,” he heard her scoff. “if somewhat hard-headed at times.” 

She turned around to look at him, the head still in her hands, gloved fingers digging into rough burlap. “What do you want from me, Rowan?”

“Nothing you're unwilling to give,” he said. “I am quite fond of you, Cassandra, if you had not noticed. I want to court you if you'll let me. I've been trying these last few months, rather unsuccessfully.”

Cassandra shook her head slowly. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Rowan took another step, rested his hands on hers. “I know I'm a lot to take on, my siblings, Nora...” his mouth quirked up. “She wants to be just like you, you know? She asked Blackwall to show her how to use her sword and shield so that she can impress you.” Cassandra's cheeks went a delightful shade of pink. 

“You don't want her to be like me,” Cassandra said, voice quiet.

“I would be the proudest father in all of Thedas if my daughter turned out to be anything like you.” Then he leaned in and brushed a kiss against the corner of her mouth.


	19. Chapter 19

Cullen wrung out the cloth in the basin of cold water and then pressed it to Grace's face. She'd kept fighting in the War Room, refusing to give in, to the point that Cullen had nearly tossed her bodily over his shoulder and carried her upstairs. But he hadn't needed to. “I'm so tired,” she'd whispered, tipping her face up to his. “The hands, they pull me under, I can't get away.” 

He'd lifted her into his arms and she hadn't resisted, which he was grateful for. She was burning up, so after taking her up to her quarters, Leliana and Josephine had tucked her into bed while he'd gone to fetch Adan. Now, he sat beside her bed, watching over her. It only seemed fitting since she had watched over him while he'd been suffering one of his bouts with the lyrium withdrawal. He wasn't sure what she'd done, but his head had never felt clearer. 

Cullen heard the door open, footsteps, and glanced up to see Rowan walking in. He didn't look surprised. “I spoke with Leliana,” he said, keeping his voice low as not to disturb Grace. Cullen waited, expecting the man to tell him to leave, but he didn't. Rowan walked over, brushed his fingers down Grace's cheek. “It's terrifying to think I could have lost her, just like that. Dragged into the lake and gone.” 

Cullen had been trying not to think about that. How close she'd come to dying, once again. He considered standing, excusing himself, to leave Rowan to care for Grace, but didn't.

“I'm curious,” Rowan said, shoving his hands into his pockets, eyes locked on Grace's sleeping face. “She insists there isn't anything going on between the two of you, I don't believe she'd lie to me, but I have seen the way you look at her.” 

“She's an amazing woman,” Cullen offered, then went back to his task, dipping the rag in the cool water, she winced when he pressed it to her cheek, but then her face relaxed again. 

Rowan nodded. “She is, I'm so fucking proud of her. I don't think she understands that. But you didn't answer my question.”

“And what question was that? You made an observation.” Cullen knew well enough what Rowan was implying. Had heard the rumors, though he'd tried to quell them. It did little good. 

“What happened the night my sister spent in your tower?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that?” He was goading him. Cullen glanced over his shoulder at Rowan, saw the frustration written clear on his features. “I was ill,” Cullen told him. “Grace watched over me.”

“Are you sleeping with her?” Rowan started pacing the space beside the bed. “Fuck, are you having sex with my sister? She's fragile. She has been through so much, and most of it because of this fucking Inquisition. And if you hurt her, or take advantage of her, so help me I will kill you with my bare hands.” 

Cullen slowly rose to his feet, the bed between them. They were fairly equally matched in height and mass, but that was where it ended. “Do you know who killed Kendrick?” Rowan blinked, then shook his head. Cullen just stared at him and saw the realization sink in. “Your sister is not nearly as fragile as you seem to think. Yes, she has had to endure far too much, and yes, mostly because of the Inquisition. But if you think for one instant that I would-”

“I don't.” Rowan thrust his hands into his hair and let out a loud breath of air. “I don't. I'm just-” he walked the length of the room and then back to the side of the bed. “She is my baby sister, and I couldn't protect her when she was younger, or through all she went through at the Circle. I wasn't there. Then every time she goes out there, fighting, nearly dying, and there is nothing I can do about it. But if I could protect her heart at least,” Rowan sighed again, then leaned down and pressed at kiss against Grace's forehead before straightening back up. “If my brothers decide to come after you, I'd appreciate it if you went easy on them. Nora is kind of attached to the two.”

“Is that likely?” Cullen asked, bemused. 

Rowan shrugged. “I'll try to talk them out of it, but I can't make any promises.” Then he turned and left.

 

Grace awoke, screaming, scrambling from the bed. Cullen launched himself across the room, from where he'd been seated at her desk, attempting to work. He caught her in his arms and lifted her off the floor. “No! No! Get them off me!” 

“Grace,” Cullen caught her arms when she reached up, scrubbing at her face. “Grace, it's okay,” he told her as he sunk onto the edge of the bed. 

“The hands,” she broke off, pressed her face into his throat and wrapped her arms around his chest. “They won't leave me alone.” 

Moving back, Cullen leaned against the headboard of the bed and held Grace against his chest, cradled between his legs. He rested one hand against the back of her head, the other on her hip as she curled into him. “No more hands,” he told her then tugged the blanket up and wrapped it around her. “There aren't any more corpses.” 

“They keep trying to pull me under,” her voice was a whisper of breath against his throat, he felt hot tears trickle down his neck. He was glad that her fever had broken, but he wondered if she was actually awake, or still half dreaming. “They claw and scratch-”

“Shhh,” Cullen murmured and pressed his lips against her temple. “I won't let them take you,” he told her softly. 

“Cullen,” she murmured quietly and then burrowed in tighter against him. Her breathing evened out moments later and he smiled a little, glad that she was asleep, and glad that she had been aware enough to know it was him. He couldn't deny that he liked the way she fit against him. 

For months they had been dancing, figuratively, around whatever kept drawing them together. He admired her a great deal, was amazed by her kindness, and strength. But he wasn't sure how she felt. She adamantly denied there being anything between them, repeatedly, to anyone who would listen. But she had kissed him. They had never spoken of the kiss in Haven when they had all believed Grace was going to her death.

He'd had every intention of pursuing her, or at least confronting her about it until Kendrick's appearance had thrown a rock into those gears. His jealousy was irrational, he'd told himself, over and over again. One kiss meant nothing. Her kindness was nothing special. She was kind to everyone. He'd had no reason to be angry or hurt that she'd chosen someone else. 

The realization of what had truly happened to her had hollowed him out. He should have seen it. She should never have had to withstand Kendrick's abuse. He'd promised her safety at Skyhold and Cullen had turned his back on her. Grace didn't seem to blame him, had told him as much, but she should, he thought. She should hate him. 

Grace made a quiet sound in her sleep and Cullen tightened his arms around her. “I've got you,” he murmured, she shifted, lips brushing against his throat. Cullen let his eyes slip shut, rested his cheek against the top of her head. “I've got you,” he repeated. 

 

Grace woke up slowly, drowsy and confused she tried to take stock of where she was. She remembered... ugh. The corpses. Crestwood. Had she yelled at Cassandra? Argued with Josie, Leliana, and Cullen. The Wardens. The quiet snore startled her into a more awake state of being. A soft breath against her ear. The rough stubble of a cheek rubbing against hers.

Slowly she opened her eyes, but it didn't help. She had her face pressed into someone's neck. Grace was all but laying on top of whoever was in her bed, and they had their arms wrapped tight around her. They were both fully clothed, she noted, considered her options. She could scream, she could jump up and shove him away. Or she could enjoy the warmth, the strength of the arms holding her. 

Her eyes slid shut again and she breathed in deeply. Cullen. It was Cullen. Her eyes popped open again. She recognized the scent of his soap and the feel of the stubble on his jaw. How exactly had this happened? Where were her brothers? Unable to hold still she shifted. 

Cullen's response was immediate. “What?” He sat up part way, tightened his grip, then froze. “Grace?” he said, voice quiet. 

“Cullen,” she said quietly, lifting her head. He looked down at her, stroked a hand over the side of her face, and she watched the corner of his mouth pull up. 

“The fever is gone,” he said absently. “How do you feel?”

“Disgusting,” she told him honestly. “I want a bath.”

He chuckled quietly. “I'll see that one is sent up immediately.” He didn't release her, continued cupping the side of her face.

“Have it checked for corpses first,” she muttered and pressed her face against his chest. She felt the low rumble of his laugh, and then his lips brushed against her temple. 

“Of course, my lady,” Grace growled a quiet warning, felt his smile against her temple. “You should eat as well. You've slept for nearly three days.” 

Grace sat up, pulled away from him and shoved her tangled hair from her face. Three days? She'd slept and Cullen had stayed with her? “Where are my brothers?” she asked confused. Overprotective morons that they were, she couldn't imagine them allowing Cullen to stay in her room. “Oh, Maker, you had to kill them didn't you?” she breathed. The rumors, if the people at Skyhold knew that Cullen had been up here, there would be a whole new host of rumors to contend with.

“They have been up to check on you,” he told her and climbed off the bed. She sat in the center of her bed, blanket wrapped around her. Ducking her head, Grace rubbed her cheek against it. The cursed blanket. It followed her, she decided. Must be indestructible. The blanket Cullen had given her all those months ago, that she'd repeatedly tried to return to him, had somehow escaped Haven, and taken up residence on her bed ever since. 

“You stayed with me the whole time?” she asked, watching as he made his way over to where his armor lay on the couch by the stairs. 

“Where else would I be?” 

Grace blinked, watched as he began to tug on his armor. “But... why?” Her heart gave a little flutter in her chest when he turned to look at her. 

“You looked after me when I was ill,” he told her as he pulled on his cloak. 

“A few hours, barely a whole night.” 

“If I had your gift for healing, you might have been better in a few hours as well.” Cullen crossed back to the bed, sat down on the edge. He touched the blanket, smiled. “My mother made this,” he said. “One of the few things that I've held onto through the years.” 

Grace was horrified. “You should take it back, I didn't know. Maker, I've been trying to give it back for months, but it just keeps ending up on my bed.”

“Maybe that is where it belongs.” He tugged the blanket back around her as she tried to shove it off. “I want you to keep it, Grace.” She stared at him, unable to find the words. Was she still dreaming? She must be. “I'll go see to your bath.” Light fingertips against her jaw, and then he stood up and she watched him cross the room and go down the stairs, leaving Grace utterly dumbfounded. 

Before she knew it, a large tub was brought up. “Commander Cullen promises there are no corpses,” one of the servants said, obviously confused. 

Grace felt her cheeks flush. She ducked her head and waited while the tub was filled and a tray of food was brought up. She was suddenly ravenous. She devoured everything on the plate while staring at the tub full of hot water. She could see the steam rising off of it. No corpses, she told herself. No skeleton hands to pull her under. Steeling herself, she got up, stripped, and stood at the edge of the bathtub. 

“There is nothing in there but water,” she told herself. She dipped in her fingertips, waited. “Maker, you know there isn't anything in there. Just get in. You're filthy. You stink. You slept with Cullen and your hair is a mess.” Grace froze at her own words. How long had Cullen laid there holding her? He'd slept with her in his arms. Her stomach did a flip. She didn't know what to think. They were friends, she told herself. He'd been concerned. 

Taking a deep breath, Grace slowly began to step into the water. One toe, then the foot, ankle, and calf. Up to the knee. She stopped, had to breathe as she stared into the water. She could see through it, clear to the bottom. See her own foot. Nothing else. The other foot went in faster, simply because she would have fallen over if she took too long. Slowly she sunk down until she was sitting, the water was hot, a painful pleasure against her skin. Her hair, she could only imagine how dirty it was, after the lake, then days with a fever. But she wasn't sure she could tip her head back, dunk under the water. “Just do it, Grace.” Mentally, she counted to three, dunked and barely contained the scream as she immediately yanked herself back up. 

Her chest heaved. But nothing grabbed her. Nothing was in the tub with her. She grabbed the soap, enjoyed the thick lather, the soft scent of embruim. Grace scrubbed and scrubbed, worked the soap into her hair. She'd have to dunk under again. Drawing in a breath, she gripped the sides of the tub as tightly as she could and dunked, she kept her eyes open, ignored the burning pain of soap and water in her eyes. Then she practically launched herself out of the bathtub and scrambled for the towel. She soaked the floorboards of her room and she didn't care. 

Grace eyed the tub as she went to stand in front of the fire and combed the knots of her hair. The Wardens, she thought. They needed to get to them. She hurried her pace, twisted her hair into a braid and then quickly dressed before she jogged down the stairs. What time is it? She wondered, heading for the war room. 

“Feeling better?” Josephine asked as Grace passed through her office.

“Just so long as I never have to go near any large bodies of water again, I'll be great.” But Grace knew better. They still had business on the Storm Coast, she thought of the water in the Hinterlands and shuddered. 

“Well, I will see what I can do about that,” Josephine told her with a smile. 

“Thanks,” Grace laughed quietly.


	20. Chapter 20

In the War Room, they told Grace they had scouted The Western Approach, found the general area where they believed the Wardens were and were ready to depart when she was. “Immediately,” she said. “We must go.” She was worried. What more could have happened in the delay with her being so sick? 

“Who do you want to accompany you?” 

“Dorian, Varric, Blackwall,” because it had to do with Wardens and she believed Blackwall would be instrumental. 

Leliana nodded. “I'll see that they are ready.” With that she and Josephine slipped from the room, leaving Grace and Cullen alone. 

Grace was worrying her lip between her teeth as she stared at the map. “I can only imagine how much damage my being sick has done. If we'd left as soon as we'd found out-” 

“You could have been killed,” Cullen told her, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your life is not so easily forfeit.” 

She watched him from across the table, crossed her own arms over her chest, mirroring his position. “But then I'd be a martyr. Imagine all the people who would flock to the Inquisition then.” 

Cullen slapped his hands down on the war table, causing the pins and pieces to quake. “This is not a joke,” he hissed and Grace regretted the joke. 

“I'm sorry,” she told him. “I didn't mean it. I know how important all of this is, which is why I should have gone to the Western Approach immediately.” 

Throwing his hands up in the air he spun around, rubbing the back of his neck, before turning back to face her. “I was speaking of your life, Grace. Not the Inquisition.” 

She felt that little fluttering in her chest again. The one that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the look on Cullen's face. “Thank you for watching over me, Cullen,” she told him quietly. Instantly his features softened. 

“Please, do try to be a bit more careful,” he said. “If anything were to happen to you-” 

“Inquisitor,” Leliana said pushing open the door. “Everyone is ready.” 

“I'll do my best,” Grace said, offering Cullen a tentative smile before leaving the room. Her brothers caught up with her at the stables and she turned to just look at them. “Well, obviously you kept your mouths shut,” she noted. “Or did Adan already patch you up?” 

“We're coming with you,” Caleb said and Grace shook her head.

“Absolutely not.” 

“You can't stop us,” Alexander crossed his arms over his chest. “You let Rowan go with you before.”

Grace couldn't stop shaking her head as she saw to her horse. “I didn't _let_ Rowan do anything. If anything were to happen to either of you I'd never forgive myself. This is my responsibility. Besides, we're just going to go see a few Wardens. I'll be perfectly fine.” 

“If it's so safe, why won't you let us come with you?” 

Grace turned to face Caleb and Alexander. “I know I haven't been around much since you arrived. I am sorry for that. This would have been taken care of sooner had I not gotten sick. But once I do this, I'll be back and we can spend time together. I promise.” 

“Or you'll get killed and we'll never see you again,” Caleb bit out before turning and walking away. Grace gave Alexander a curious look.

“He has always blamed himself for you being taken by the Templars.” 

“What? Why?” 

“He was the reason you discovered your powers for the first time,” Alexander said with a shrug. 

Well, it looked like Grace wouldn't be leaving yet. She quickly jogged off in the direction that Caleb had gone. Through the main hall and shoving through a door that lead down to the small quiet library. “Caleb Owen Trevelyan you stop right this instant!” she yelled after him, her voice echoing off the stones. 

“Oh, bugger off, Grace. Go save the world again or something.” 

She caught up to him and gave his shoulder a shove. “Hey, stop being a brat.” 

“I'm a brat? Maker, I'll always be that little boy to you, won't I?”

“Yes! You're being a brat! For the love of the Maker, Caleb.” Grace threw her hands into the air. “I didn't ask for any of this and I am doing the best that I can! People's lives are depending on me right now.” 

“Yeah, oh mighty Inquisitor. Herald of Andraste,” his voice was laced with contempt.

Hands on her hips Grace stared at him, he'd turned his back to her, arms over his chest staring at the walls of books. “What do you want from me, Caleb?”

He didn't say anything and Grace waited, waited. “Nothing.” 

Her shoulders slumped at his brusque tone and she dropped her hands to her sides. “Okay,” she whispered. “Your wish is my command.” Tears stung her eyes and she turned around heading down the hall toward the kitchen. She could slip out near the stables and hopefully, have to face fewer people. She shouldn't have been surprised by the number of people waiting at the stables when she arrived. Rowan was there with Nora, who had her wooden sword and shield in hand. She kept casting quick glances at Cassandra, doing her best to mimic the woman's pose. 

Grace caught the hint of a smile on the woman's lips before she caught her eye and the smile immediately faded. Josephine should add that to Grace's list of abilities. 'Able to piss off anyone with barely a glance.' 

“You'll be careful,” Rowan said, tugging her into a hug.

“Of course,” she told him. Exactly what she'd told him before heading off to Crestwood. She didn't miss the look he gave her. “No lakes, no corpses, hopefully. Just Wardens and demons. I'll be able to handle those,” she gave him a tight smile. 

“We are due to have a _very_ long talk when you get back.” 

“Yes, sir.” Grace saluted him before pressing a kiss to his cheek. She hugged Alexander tightly. “Keep an eye on Caleb?”

“Always do,” he said, squeezing her tight. 

Grace knelt down in front of Nora. “I'm going to be a warrior,” the little girl said, puffing out her chest.

“And you'll be brilliant.” Grace lightly tapped her on the tip of her little nose, causing Nora to giggle and duck her head. “I leave Skyhold in yours and Cassandra's very capable hands.” Then she stood and looked at Cassandra. 

“Inquisitor,” the woman said curtly. 

Grace didn't believe that she and Cassandra would ever see eye to eye. She turned back to the stables, ready to mount her horse, and saw Cullen standing next to her mare. The pleasure she felt at Cullen coming to see her off made her cheeks turn pink. Grace walked over to her horse, took the reins from Cullen when he held them out to her.

 

Word traveled fast in Skyhold, and Cullen had been on the way to his office when he'd heard that Grace had been seen arguing with one of her brothers. Judging by the fact that Caleb wasn't there, Cullen thought it was safe to assume it had been him. Grace offered him a smile as she took the reins from him. “Everything okay?” he asked and she rolled her eyes.

“It's fine,” she gave a little half-shrug. “I'll figure it out when I get back.” 

“Grace,” Cullen said as she reached up to mount her horse.

“If the next words out of your mouth are 'be careful,' Commander,” she wiggled her fingers and he could see the magic sparking between her fingers. The out of control blazes of light that sparked from her hands had seemed to mostly fade since sealing the breach, but he knew she still struggled at times.

“How about stay safe?” he offered and she shot him a look that made the corner of his mouth twitch up into a grin. Grace climbed into the saddle and Cullen couldn't help himself. “Alright, then, come back, we need you.” _I need you._ The thought, so clear, surprised him. Not for the Inquisition. For him. _Maker watch over you and bring you home_ , he sent up a silent prayer as she smiled down at him.

“I'll do my best not to fall into any lakes in the Western Approach. I mean that, really. I won't so much as go closer than fifty miles to another large body of water.” With that, they were off.

“She'll be fine,” Cassandra said coming to stand beside him. Cullen let out a noncommittal grunt. _She had better be_ , he thought. “How long are the two of you going to skirt around the truth?”

Cullen shook his head, pulling himself from his thoughts. “What?”

“It is obvious that the two of you care a great deal for each other,” Cassandra cleared her throat. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he offered and saw Cassandra duck her head, a small smile playing over her lips before she glanced to where Rowan sat in the grass with Nora. Rowan looked up, winked at Cassandra and Cullen raised a brow. “I stand corrected.” 

 

Despite the fact that there was no water in sight, Grace couldn't stop having nightmares about the corpses. Which was why she was up in the middle of the night sketching by the fire. Everyone else was asleep, save for the few lookouts. She just wanted one thing to be easy. They'd gone to the Western Approach, only to discover the Wardens were summoning demons. Now they were going to head back to Skyhold in the morning and begin making preparations to go to Adamant Fortress to try and stop them. 

“How are you doing?” Hawke walked over and sat down a few feet away. 

“It's never going to get easier, is it?” Grace asked. The page on her sketchbook was full of corpses and demons. Monsters from her nightmares and reality. 

Hawke made a quiet sound. “Probably not,” she told her honestly and Grace couldn't help but laugh softly. 

“I just want one thing in my life to be easy. One thing. I don't care what it is, just one tiny thing would make me happy.” 

“I'm sure the Commander-”

Grace slammed the book shut. “No, don't you start on that too!” Hawke blinked at her in surprise. “Cullen is not in love with me.” 

Her mouth twisted into a grin. “That isn't what I was going to say. Is there something going on between you and the Commander?”

Rolling her eyes, Grace tilted her head back to look up at the stars. “Maker's Breath,” she muttered. “No, there is nothing between Cullen and me.”

“I knew the Commander back in Kirkwall, he's changed, a lot it seems.” 

They sat in silence for a long time before Grace worked up the nerve to speak again. “What will you do when this is all over?”

A faint smile played at the corner of Hawke's lips. “Go back to Fenris,” 

“I read Varric's book, well, skimmed through it anyways, Fenris hates magic, and yet-”

“I'm a mage. Yes. It wasn't easy, he's still distrustful of most mages. But somehow, in spite of all of that, he loves me. Maker knows why.” 

Grace ran her finger along the edge of the leather-bound sketchbook. “That sounds nice,” she found herself saying. “Having someone love you, despite the differences and flaws.”

“That is what loving someone is. He makes my soul happy, I hope that I do the same for him.” Hawke tilted her head to the side, watching Grace. “Does the Commander do that for you?” she asked, tentatively.

Grace's cheeks flushed and she shook her head. “Some people aren't meant for love.” 

“You?” Hawke asked. “Or the Commander?”

Getting to her feet, Grace brushed the dirt from her pants. “I'm sure the Commander will find a very nice, non-mage, to settle down with once all of this is over. Hopefully, it'll be soon,” she trailed off. Cullen deserved to be happy after so much suffering. “Good night, Hawke.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much happens in this chapter. SO much. And it all happens really fast, mainly because my brain hates me and words are a struggle at the moment. But it has been all I could think about. So, here. I hope it's okay.
> 
> I rewrote parts of this repeatedly, so I'm sure there are horrible errors as well.

Grace tipped her head back, draining the last of the bottle of whiskey she'd pilfered from the barkeep. She felt numb, which she was okay with. She'd take numb any day over the riot of emotions she'd been feeling since falling into the fade in Adamant. There was the regret, the remorse, of letting Stroud be the one the stay behind so that she and Hawke could escape. The raw ache of wanting.

When Fenris had appeared at Skyhold before Hawke was to depart for Weishaupt. The reality of her decision had struck home. Grace knew exactly who he was the moment she saw him. Long and lean, pale white hair and the lyrium tattoos. She'd watched the Hawke lit up, she all but flew across the room and into his arms. It was only when they broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together that Grace felt like she was spying on a private moment. Then there was a quiet sound, a soft cry, and Hawke reached for the bundle tucked against Fenris' side. 

The little girl, she later learned was named Bethany, had sleepily clung to Hawke. Then Grace had wondered, what if Stroud had someone? Someone that was out there wondering if he would ever return. It was an impossible choice, Hawke or Stroud. But then, why did it have to be one of them? It could have just as easily been her to stay behind, she could have closed the rift from the inside. Why did she automatically get a pass? 

Bringing the bottle to her lips again, she tipped it back, remembered it was empty and sighed heavily. “Maker, please tell me you did not drink that whole thing,” Cullen was in front of her suddenly, three of him to be precise. She squinted, reached out and felt his cheek. 

“Shhh,” she said, pressing her fingers to his lips. Lips that were warm and full.

“You did,” he said resigned, tugging the bottle from her hand. 

“Did Stroud have anyone?” she asked him. “Do you know?”

“Have anyone what?” his brow furrowed and she smiled. She liked his face.

“To love. Hawke has Fenris. Did Stroud have someone? It isn't fair, he shouldn't have had to die. I can't make choices like that, Cullen.” 

Cullen wiped at her cheek and she realized there were tears rolling down her face. She shook her head and wiped at her face. “Stroud was a Gray Warden. To the best of my knowledge, they don't marry.” 

“But someone could have loved him still. What if they are out there, waiting, and he's never going to come back,” her voice cracked.

“That is what being a Gray Warden is. They go out, fight, and they might not come back.” 

“Why not me? I could have stayed-”

Cullen shook his head abruptly. “No, absolutely not. You're needed here. You have loved ones here. The Inquisition needs you.” 

“Caleb hates me,” she admitted quietly. “I tried,” she hiccuped. “I tried to talk to him when we returned, but he won't, he won't even look at me now. He said he wished I'd been made Tranquil, or that I'd run away and that I was dead. No one _needs_ me, not like Fenris and Bethany need Hawke. Someone could have needed Stroud.” Grace wished someone needed her like that. What would it be like? To have someone love you so irrevocably? 

“It's late, Grace. Let's get you back to your quarters,” Cullen said, he started to stand, and Grace didn't think, she just acted. She reached out, cupped his jaw and pressed her lips softly to his. Warm, soft, and _not_ kissing her back. Then his hands came up to her shoulders and he set her away from him. “No, Grace.” 

Heat flooded her cheeks. He stood up abruptly and Grace glanced up to see one of Leliana's messenger's. “Commander, it's urgent,” he said and Grace took her chance to flee. She stood up, ignored Cullen when he called after her, and quickly as she could, in her somewhat inebriated state, made her way to her quarters. 

 

Early the next morning, though her head was throbbing she made her way up the stairs to find Leliana, she'd wanted to ask her if she could find out if Stroud had any loved ones, but it was promptly forgotten when she spotted the paper sitting on Leliana's desk. Names. Of Templars. A handful crossed out, with notes scribbled beside them. Dead. Conclave. Unknown. Tracked to the Free Marches. Grace knew every one of those names. Bile rose in her throat. 

“Inquisitor,” Leliana's voice came from behind Grace. She whirled around.

“What is this?” she asked, flipping the paper around to show Leliana, only to find the list of names on the back. Dead. Dead. Unknown. Found, moved to a safe place. “You're tracking them? Finding them? And if they're still alive?”

Leliana didn't say a word, and it was answer enough. Grace recognized Cullen's handwriting. He'd made the list. That meant he knew everything. She pressed her hand to her mouth and put the list back on the table. She was going to be sick. Cullen knew _everything_. She didn't think she could ever look him in the eye again. It was no wonder he'd pushed her away when she'd kissed him. 

“Please, excuse me,” Grace said and then turned and hurried down the stairs, ignoring Leliana's call after her. “Come on, Dorian, we're leaving.” 

“What?” he looked up from his book and blinked at her. “Where are we going?”

“The Fallow Mire.” 

“But-”

“We're going now. Either grab your stuff and move, or I'll get Solas,” she needed to be gone, to do something, anything to keep her mind off the details of what Cullen knew.

“Grace, there are corpses and large lakes there,” Dorian said quickly catching up with her. “What happened?” He caught her elbow, tugged her around to face him. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I'm fine. I just need to go. So are you coming or not?”

Dorian frowned at her. “Of course, I'm coming. You think I'd let you go this without me?” 

 

“What do you mean she went to the Fallow Mire?” Cullen all but roared. 

“She departed a few hours ago-” Jim knew that was the wrong thing to say the moment the words came out of his mouth. 

Cullen stepped closer, towering over him. “Hours ago?”

“Uh,” his eyes darted around the room. Flinging himself through the door and off the battlements might be safer than meeting head on with Cullen's anger.

A door opened and Cullen glanced dismissively toward it. “I'm in the middle of something,” 

“She found the list,” Leliana said crossing her arms over her chest. Cullen didn't need any further explanation. “She was upset. I didn't imagine she would go to the Fallow Mire, of all places. Dorian, Blackwall and Varric are with her,”

“I don't care who is with her!” he barked and Jim ducked out of the room quickly. “Dorian was with her the last time she nearly died.” 

It took Leliana over an hour to convince Cullen that he couldn't go racing after them, after her. She'd be fine, she had to be, there was no other option. “I don't care what Rowan says,” Caleb said, as he pushed through Cullen's door. “Stay the hell away from Grace.” 

Cullen crossed his arms over his chest, looked down at the younger man, and let out a little sigh. “Concerned for your sister, are you?” he asked, mind going back to Grace's drunken babbling. “Because she told me that you hated her.” 

“I never said that!” Caleb exclaimed. He raised his hand, pointing a finger at Cullen's chest. “You're just another Templar, using her. Just like that other bastard-” 

In the next moment, Cullen had Caleb pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against his upper chest. He drew in a slow deep breath, his head was killing him today. Grace may be upset with her brother, but she'd never forgive Cullen if he hurt him. “Did you tell Grace you wished she was dead? Or that you'd prefer she'd been made Tranquil?”

The younger man's eyes went wide, then flicked behind him as his brother's passed into the room. “Get him off me!”

Rowan raised a brow. “No, actually, I think I'd like to know the answer to that question.” 

“That isn't what I said! That's not what I meant!” Caleb tried to explain. Neither of his brother's looked particularly sympathetic to his situation. “It was my fault! All of it! Them taking her. I made her mad that day she caught the barn on fire. Then I was the one that told mom and dad about it. She walked in, and then two days later they told us she ran away. I thought she ran away because of what I'd done. But then, when you,” he nodded at Rowan. “When you told us the truth. That mom and dad sent her to the Circle I realized it was my fault. It really was. 

“Have you seen her face? The scars? I've heard the whispers about what happened to her. That bastard Kendrick. That is MY fault. I'd just thought, that maybe if she'd been made Tranquil, he wouldn't have done to her what he did.”

“Do you really believe that would have stopped him?” Cullen asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Because I have a list of names of others he did the same thing too. Guess how many were Tranquil.” 

Caleb sagged and Cullen stepped away, letting him sink down to the floor. 

 

The Avvar were defeated, and the soldiers were saved. Grace stared at the dark water. She'd done her best to steer clear of it over the few days they'd been there. But now, she drew in a breath and headed straight for it. 

“Grace!” Dorian yelled out in surprise when she'd stepped ankle deep into the water. “Fasta Vass, what are you doing?” 

“Facing my fears!” The water in front of her shifted. A head emerged. Grace flicked her ice magic at it. Another step, another, up to her knees now. Another corpse. Dorian and Varric struck it down before she could react. 

Water to her waist. Deeper and deeper still. Something brushed against her leg. Tugged, pulling her under. _Not again,_ she thought. _I will not break. I am not weak._ Centering herself, she poured her magic into her hands, mouth opening in a silent scream, fire exploded from her hands. For a split second the water light up, she saw the corpse that had grabbed her turn to ash. She kicked back up to the surface, and Blackwall was there, catching her arm and helping her back to the shore. 

Grace hit her knees on the sodden grass as she coughed and wheezed and struggled to breathe. A glance up told her all the Inquisition soldiers and scouts had just witnessed her insanity. “Let's get the hell out of here,” she said reaching up to shove her wet hair from her face. 

 

“Ser,” a soldier appeared, looking wary. “The Inquisitor,” he said with a nod toward the road that lead to Skyhold. Cullen looked out and saw the riders. She'd found them. The soldiers from the Fallow Mire. He scanned the heads, looking for the copper glint, but he didn't see it. Worry was a knot in his stomach. She'd been hurt, again. He'd put a stop to it. No more. Grace would never put herself in harm's way again. He was down the stairs and waiting anxiously by the gate when the first of the soldiers started to file through. 

Then he saw her and realized why he hadn't seen the glint of her hair. Grace was covered, head to toe, in mud. But she was laughing. Head thrown back, laughing with the soldiers. That is until she saw him. The smile died and she quickly averted her gaze. Then Cullen had been swept up with the soldiers and pulled in the opposite direction, and by the time he'd managed to free himself, Grace was gone. 

 

It was late that night when Grace made her way down to the bar. She'd taken a long, hot bath, and enjoyed every moment of it. In her room she'd found a tiny dragon carved out of bloodstone, impossible, she'd thought, that it was the same one her brother's had bought for her last birthday before she'd been sent to the Circle. But it looked just like it. She wondered how it had ended up on her bedside table. 

“Want a drink, Boss?” Bull asked as she sat down beside him, depositing the dragon carving in front of her.

“Sure, Bull,” she said with a smile. Grace hadn't been there long, taking tiny, measured sips from the massive mug full of the strong stuff Bull liked when a gloved hand clasped around her wrist as she reached for the mug again.

“Not this time, Grace,” Cullen said. 

“What?” she jerked her hand back, looked at him in confusion. Everyone was staring at them. 

“You and I need to talk,” he said.

“Not now, Cullen.” Grace reached for her drink again. It hurt to look at him, to know what he knew.

Cullen's hand covered hers on the mug and he leaned in close. “There are two ways we can do this, Grace. We walk out of here and have an adult conversation.”

“And the other way?” Her throat felt tight. Cullen was standing too close. She could feel his breath against her ear and it wasn't fair. Why him? Why did she have to be attracted to him of all people? 

“I will toss you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.” 

She let out a disbelieving snort of laughter. “You wouldn't-” the rest of the sentence didn't make it past her lips. Just as he'd said, he tossed her over her shoulder, in front of everyone. There were hoots of laughter, offers of help. “Put me down!” Grace yelled, hands swatting at his back. She was afraid to kick her legs and risk him dropping her on her head. 

Up the stairs, more hoots and catcalls. “Maker,” she heard Cullen mutter. “Cole, I'm not going to hurt her.” Grace sighed, relented.

“It's fine, Cole,” she said, though she couldn't see him. “I'm fine. The Commander is right, we need to talk.” Then they were moving again and Cullen put Grace back on her feet, his hands on her waist to steady her as she regained her equilibrium. “Oh, by the Maker, Cullen you do realize that you only just added fuel to the fire. There will be no stopping the rumors now.” She ducked away from him, put several feet of space between them.

“You found the list,” Cullen said, head ducking forward for a second before he looked back up at her. The dim glow from the candle on the desk was not helping her riotous emotions. The man was just too good looking. She didn't reply, just crossed her arms over her chest and tried not to look at him. “Any Templar that fell in with Kendrick's way of thinking will no longer be a problem. And anyone that had to endure Kendrick's special brand of torture is being taken care of.”

“Good,” she said, voice clipped. “Are we done?”

“Not by a long shot,” Cullen mirrored her stance, watched her spine stiffen. “Why the Fallow Mire?”

“Our soldiers were missing. They needed to be found.”

“I had a plan to take care of that,” he told her. 

Grace shrugged. “Well, now you don't need to worry about it. They are all back at Skyhold, safe and sound.” 

“You waded into the lake, full of corpses.”

Her carefully controlled faced crumbled and she threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, Andraste's ass! Gossipmongers! The lot of them are all gossipmongers! Fine, you want to know why? Because I'm sick and tired of being afraid! If it wasn't one thing, it was another! Templars, Kendrick, the bloody corpses!” 

“And?”

“And I killed them. I killed the stupid already-dead things again. Well, some of them, Varric and Dorian thought I'd lost my mind and killed a few of them before I could.” She sagged, wrapped her arms around her waist. “Now, if we're done, I want to go speak with Josephine and see if she can put a stop to these ridiculous rumors about us being in love.” 

“Is the idea so repulsive?”

His words caught her off guard. She turned to look at him, but his face was unreadable. “What? No.” She shook her head. “I know you don't see me that way Cullen, and I understand.” Grace sighed. “But since everyone here seems convinced that there is something going on between us.” Yes, they spent a lot of time together, and she had kissed him that one time. But it was obvious he didn't have those kinds of feelings for her.

“Is it because I am a former Templar, and your experience with them has not been pleasant, to say the least?”

“Of course not. You are nothing like the ones I grew up surrounded by.” 

“So it is just me you're put off by?”

Grace stared at him, mind whirling. How had that happened? She was dreaming, or this was some alternate reality. Dorian and Blackwall were tricking her, somehow. “I care for you, Cullen. But I am not fool enough to believe...” she trailed off, unwilling to admit the dark thoughts to anyone, least of all Cullen. 

“Not fool enough to believe what?” 

_That_ anyone _would ever love me. Least of all you_.

Grace spun around, desperate to escape the conversation. “I've tried telling them they are imagining things. But they won't listen to me.” No one would listen, and the rumors just grew more and more outlandish as the days passed. She'd actually heard whispers about she and Cullen getting married! And after his latest stunt, she couldn't even imagine what they would come up with next.

“Not fool enough to believe that a Templar could have actual feelings for a mage?” Grace stood rooted to the spot. She shook her head, she didn't understand why Cullen was pushing it. “Or more specifically that I could have feelings for a mage? For you?”

Her eyes burned and she looked up, stared hard at nothing as she willed it to stop. His fingers were feather-light as they brushed the top of her shoulder, then began to skim down her arm. “You **don't**. So this conversation is moot,” she bit out the words. Because he didn't. How could he? He knew... everything. About Kendrick and the others. 

He stepped in front of her, face close, she could feel the warmth of his breath, see the flecks of color in his eyes as his bore into hers. He looked... angry? No. Not angry. Her brows drew together in confusion, and then his mouth was on hers. The kiss was fierce. Like when she'd kissed him back at Haven. Only this time she wasn't using it to distract him, to say goodbye. Grace clung to him, hands gripping his arms. He had one hand cupping her neck, the other on the curve of her waist. 

She couldn't help the soft sound that escaped her. She'd never been kissed like that. Like he would devour her if given the chance. Cullen broke away quickly. “Maker, I'm sorry, I didn't mean, that isn't how I wanted-” 

Grace staggered at the abrupt loss of support. He stepped into her, this time his hands were gentle, one arm around her waist, the other cupping her cheek. “Oh, Grace, I'm sorry.” He pressed his forehead against hers. He'd kissed her. He'd kissed her and it had been- Curling her fingers in the fur of his mantle she pressed her lips to his, desperate for that feeling again. 

Cullen didn't disappoint. He groaned into her mouth, he took a step, moving them. She expected to feel the wall at her back, was ready for it, but instead, he tugged her into him as he leaned back against the wall. She stood between his legs, clinging to him as their mouths clashed, tongues stroking, teeth nipping. 

Finally, they broke apart, gasping for breath. But neither pulled away, lips still touching, breath mingled. “Grace,” Cullen murmured. “Grace? Are you alright? That isn't at all how I meant for this to happen.” 

She realized she was trembling. Pressing her face into his throat she closed her eyes and breathed. “I'm fine, it was perfect. Just... just hold me.” So he did. Arms coming around her, he pressed soft kisses against the side of her face.


	22. Chapter 22

Cullen's hand slid into Grace's hair and he stroked her back with his other hand. She fit so perfectly against his body. “I don't understand,” she finally whispered. “You pushed me away that night-” 

“You were drunk, Grace.” 

“I wasn't,” she tried to deny. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“You ran off before I could talk to you,” he said, lips brushing against her temple with every word. “I went up to your room, with the intentions of speaking with you, but you were already sound asleep. I found out the next day you'd left for the Fallow Mire.” Cullen couldn't hold in the shudder. “Please, Grace. Don't do that again. Don't just vanish like that. I was-” he swallowed hard, closed his eyes and tightened his hold. “I was terrified for you.”

Grace lifted her head, stroked her hand along his jaw as she looked at him. “I still don't understand,” she whispered. “How could you possibly have feelings for me?” Her cheeks felt hot, but she needed to know. “You know everything,” her voice was barely a whisper. “Kendrick, the others...”

Cullen's jaw went taught and not for the first time, he regretted letting Kendrick die so easily. “You think your past would change how I feel? You were an unwilling participant. Even if you had been willing, it changes nothing.” He cupped her face between his hands and looked at her before kissing her slowly, softly. He drew away after long moments. “You are amazing, I've believed that from the beginning.”

“Liar,” she whispered with a hint of a smile.

“From the beginning,” he repeated. “It's late,” Cullen said, his thumb skimming along her cheek. “You're exhausted.” He could see it in her eyes.

Grace shook her head and pressed her face into his throat again. “No, I'm fine,” she murmured, but he was right. She was exhausted. A part of her was afraid though, that if she left, it would all turn out to be a dream. 

“Grace,” Cullen murmured, his hands soft on her back, lips warm against her ear. 

“Let me stay,” the words were out before she could stop herself. Would he think she was brazen? Desperate? 

His hands paused in their gentle strokes, then he kissed her cheek and hugged her just a fraction tighter.  
“You're always welcome to stay,” he told her, his voice a quiet rasp. She lifted her head, met his gaze. She had to be dreaming, or maybe she'd actually died in the Fallow Mire. Cullen nudged her toward the ladder. “I'll be right up,” he said. Grace climbed the ladder slowly, glanced around, and then up, through the hole in the ceiling to the sky.

Cullen locked the doors to his office and doused the light. There would be more rumors by morning, but he didn't care. Let them talk. He climbed the ladder, spotted Grace standing in the center of the loft, arms around her waist, head tipped up with her copper hair falling down her back. He stepped up behind her, brought his hands up to rest on her hips and she immediately sunk back against his chest. He regretted not shedding his armor before ascending the ladder. Cullen pressed his lips against the crown of her head and heard her hum softly. 

“You know,” she said quietly. “There will be even more rumors come morning.” She turned to face him, her hand resting against his breastplate. 

“I don't care,” he said, cupping her cheek. “But do the rumors bother you?”

Grace shook her head then leaned into his touch. “I'm used to them. But, you do realize they've been trying to get us married for months now.” Cullen blushed, but chuckled and pressed a kiss, soft and lingering against her lips. “You literally tossing me over your shoulder, like a barbarian-”

“I object,” he said, nuzzling along her jaw. “I gave you the option to come peacefully.”

She laughed quietly, then let out a soft breathy moan when his lips found the tender place behind her ear, her hands fisted in his hair and Grace went up on her tiptoes, trying to get closer. “Peacefully he says,” she murmured. Her eyes slid shut and she arched her neck. Grace felt wanted, for the first time ever. She felt like someone truly wanted her. 

Cullen drew back, his eyes dark and heavy lidded. “You're tired,” he said, as much to her as a reminder to himself. He would not rush this, would not push her. 

Grace took a step back toward the bed, her hand coming up to the top button of her shirt. “You don't have to stop, we could...” she trailed off, bit her lip. 

With a shake of his head, Cullen stripped off his cloak and began stripping himself of his armor. “No, Grace.” He turned back to her once he was down to his simple tunic and trousers. She hadn't moved, save for to bow her head. Her fingers still rested at the collar of her shirt. He closed the distance between them in a few long strides, took her face between his hands and kissed her. “By the Maker,” he breathed against her lips. “I want you, Grace. With every fiber of my being, but not like this. You have nothing to prove, not to me. Bedding you is not all that I want from you. I am not Kendrick.” 

“I know,” Grace said quickly, curled her fingers in the front of his shirt. “I know you're not. I didn't mean-” she broke off, dropped her forehead against his chest. Hot tears burned her eyes and she clenched them shut. Why couldn't she just be normal, instead of this fumbling fool? 

Cullen released her and sat down on the bed before stretching out in the center. “Come here, let me hold you.” Grace stared at him for a few heartbeats. He held his hand out to her, nothing but warmth in his eyes. No judgment. He did care about her, did want her. She crawled onto the bed, stretched out beside him on her side. Cullen shifted, tugging her closer, their bodies almost touching. They lay facing each other, his hand resting on the curve of her waist, her hands between them, curled in the front of his shirt. 

 

Grace woke to the sun shining in her eyes. She let out a quiet groan, shifted, felt the arm tighten around her waist and heard the quiet snore behind her. Eyes fluttering open, she recalled the night before. At some point she had rolled over and now lay with her back pressed against his chest, one arm pillowed under her head, the other tight around her waist. She could feel his breath against the nape of her neck and she let her eyes slid shut once again and just reveled in the moment.

They had stayed awake, talking for hours, quiet whispers and tender kisses. Grace's heart felt as if it might explode out of her chest. When his headache had become obvious, Grace had reached up, met his eyes before letting the soft trickle of healing magic loose. 

She slid her hand down to lace her fingers through his, then brought it up to press her lips against the back of his hand. Cullen made a quiet sound, tugged her closer and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, voice a quiet rumble. 

“Hmm,” she murmured, shifting, trying to snuggle deeper into his chest. “Never better. You?” 

“Hmm,” he echoed and she felt his mouth turn up into a smile against her skin. “I'm not sure I'll ever be able to sleep without you in my arms again.” 

Grace laughed quietly, turned and pressed a kiss against his stubbled jaw. “I'm sure you'll manage.” 

Cullen cupped the back of her head, tipped her face up to his. “Maybe,” he murmured. He would have been content to spend the rest of the day in that bed with Grace, but Skyhold wouldn't have it. The banging on his doors started up just as he leaned in to brush his lips against hers. “Duty calls,” he said, then stole a quick kiss before forcing himself to get up, dragging a reluctant Grace with him. 

Down in his office, Grace stared at the door that was insistently being knocked on. Cullen stopped before going to open it. “What is it?” he asked, cupping her cheek. 

Her own insecurities had a stranglehold on her. Despite Cullen's words, his kisses, she still couldn't fathom how he could have feelings for her. “It's nothing,” she told him, then headed for the door on the other side of the room. “But I'm slipping out this door.” She tugged it open, only to find Dorian standing there, with a smirk on his face.

“Kiss swollen lips? Inquisitor!”

“Damn it,” Grace said, glanced over at Cullen, who was rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding looking at Dorian. “Go,” she said, with a gentle shove to Dorian's shoulder. “You can be such a pest,” she muttered as they made their way across the bridge to the other tower. 

“If you were aiming for inconspicuous you shouldn't have let him toss you bodily over his shoulder and haul you out of there.” 

“I didn't let him do anything,” she said, hands on her hips and he just raised an eyebrow. Alright, so maybe Dorian had a point. She could have stopped him. But she hadn't, and now she obviously had the proof of what had happened with him all over her face. 

“Is that a hickey?” Dorian reached out, pushing her hair back from her neck.

Grace quickly slapped at his hand. “It absolutely is not, because Cullen is a gentleman and would never leave a hickey.” Oh, Maker she hoped he hadn't left one, at least not where anyone could see it. Dorian laughed as he threw himself into his chair and picked up a book. “Is that all you wanted? Was details?”

“You'll give me details? Tell me, does the Commander wear that lion helmet of his in bed?”

She couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped. “Yes, Dorian,” she said sarcastically. “In fact it's a wonder he ever takes it off.” He grinned at her and she shook her head. “You're impossible,” she told him, then walked over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “But I do love you.”

Dorian blinked at her, the surprise written clear across his face for a moment before he regained his composure. “Well, of course you do. Everyone loves me. How could they not?” 

Grace made her way down the stairs and she'd almost made it across the hall to the safety of her door when she spotted her brother. One of them anyways. The one that it hurt the most to see. “If you're just going to yell at me again, Caleb, can it wait?” She pushed open the door and started up the stairs. 

He followed. Well, at least they wouldn't have an audience for their newest fight. Once in her room she glanced over at him and faltered. “What happened to your face?” There was a cut along his cheekbone, and a bruise on his jaw. “Who hit you?” she demanded. 

“It doesn't matter,” he told her and shrugged. “I deserved it.” 

Grace crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him. “Well, I'm not going to argue with that. But really, Caleb, I'm not in the mood right now.”

“I'm an ass. You getting sent to the Circle, that was my fault. So everything that you've been through, was my fault. I made you mad that day in the barn,” he said quietly.

“My abilities would have surfaced one way or another,” Grace said absently as she walked over to dig through her dresser.

“Mom and dad told us you ran away. I hoped that maybe you'd come back. But then, one day they said you were dead. My fault. I'd always blamed myself because you walked in when I was telling mom and dad about you catching fire to the barn.”

Brow furrowed, Grace looked up at Caleb. “You told them?” She shook her head. “I don't remember that.” 

“I thought that was why you ran away. Then we found out you had been sent to the Circle, I realized it really was my fault.” Caleb reached out, touched her jaw, then her cheek, brushing over the scars.

“So you'd rather I was dead?” she asked. “That I had run away and died out in the wilderness? Or that I'd been made Tranquil when I was taken?”

“NO!” he exclaimed. “I don't, Maker. I'm sorry, Grace. I know, I fucked up. I know that sorry doesn't even begin to make up for what I said. You were my best friend, Gracie. You were gone, then you were dead, then you were in the Circle and now you're the most important person in Thedas. You'll never just be my sister again.” 

“Of course I'm your sister, you doofus,” her throat felt thick with unshed tears. 

“But you'll never _just_ be my sister. Once all of this is over, are you really going to come back to Ostwick? Live with your idiot brothers? We missed out on all of this time together. I know I can't make up for what I said. But I am going to try.” 

Grace reached up, brushed her thumb over the cut on his cheek. “You really are an idiot,” she told him, then tugged him into a hug. “But you're my idiot brother, and I wouldn't trade your for anything.” 

 

That night, Cullen's head was pounding more than usual as he resigned himself to going to bed alone. Grace had left that morning, he'd seen her briefly in the War room, before he'd had matters to attend to with his troops. He'd hoped she'd come by, but his empty office had been answer enough. It was for the best, he thought as he climbed the ladder. He wouldn't be good company he knew. 

He began tugging off his armor, tugged his tunic over his head and turned to drop face first onto the bed when he saw her. She was seated in the center of his bed, wrapped in that familiar blanket, watching him with wide eyes. “You'd said anytime,” she murmured, worrying her lip between her teeth. “I knew you were busy, I didn't want to disturb you so I just-” 

Cullen crawled onto the bed, slid his arms around her waist and pressed his face against her stomach. “I meant it,” he mumbled as her fingers slid into his hair. 

“Bad day?” she asked, her voice quiet. He grunted, and then a moment later, the cool, soothing magic slipped from her fingers. Grace leaned back on the bed, her thighs cradling his chest. She felt the tension leave his body and let her eyes slip shut, finally relaxing herself.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all sap. Okay, not all. But mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter took so long, and it might be the last one for a couple of weeks. I'm in the process of packing and moving soon, so writing is not supposed to be a priority. I mean it is for me, but I'm running out of time for the packing thing...

Cullen woke to a weight on his chest. It took him a moment for his brain to catch up. He remembered coming up to his room to find Grace in the center of his bed, wrapped in his blanket. She'd held him, eased the pain in his head, allowed him to sleep. He'd woken at some point, his face still buried against her stomach, arms curled around her, he'd looked up to find her sound asleep, sitting half propped up against the headboard and pillows. It couldn't have been comfortable, so he had extricated himself from her embrace, kissed away the furrow of her brow and gathered her against his chest as he made sure she was still bundled up in the blanket. 

He hadn't immediately gone back to sleep, instead, he lay there staring up at the stars through the hole in his ceiling. There had been offers to fix it, but he had brushed them off, there were other priorities, but to be honest, he was grateful for the hole. It was open, he could see the sky, and breathe the fresh air. It helped to calm him when he woke from his nightmares sometimes. But if Grace was going to continue staying with him, and he hoped she would, it was something he imagined would need to be fixed. 

Now he realized, at some point, she had sprawled out over him, her cheek rested against his chest, her hands, fisted in the blanket, wrapped around his waist, while she straddled his hips. Cullen still found it hard to believe that Grace had feelings for him. It had been a long road to get to where they were now and would be longer still until Corypheus was defeated. Reaching up, Cullen smoothed his hand over the back of her head and down back. There was so much more to come and he knew she'd be hurt again and he was powerless to stop it. 

Grace stirred, turned her face and pressed a kiss against his chest before tipping her face up toward his. Her eyes were barely slits but she smiled a little and Cullen couldn't help but smile back as he ducked his head down to brush a light kiss on her lips. She hummed quietly, then rested her cheek against his chest again. They lay there, silently, for a while before Grace lifted her head up again to peer at him. “I'm fairly certain this is not how we fell asleep last night.”

“As am I,” he said, one hand sliding down to rest against her thigh, clad in the soft fabric leggings. “But I'm not going to object.” 

She chuckled quietly and then sighed. “Neither am I.” Grace brought one of her hands up to rest beside her face, over his heart. She could hear the steady beat of it, feel each breath he took. Never had she lain with anyone like that before. He held her and expected nothing, though, she wouldn't mind if he did want just a little more. Kisses at the very least. Grace loved his kisses. Her fingers found a scar and she frowned, lifting her head, inspected the scars that littered his chest. Some obviously caused by magic, others not. 

“Grace,” he cupped her face, tilted it up to look at him. 

She pressed her lips to his with more force than she'd meant to. But he kissed her back, hand tangling in her hair, the hand on her thigh sliding up to cup her hip. 

When they finally broke apart, Cullen's head fell back as he sucked in a breath. “Maker,” he rasped out and then groaned as Grace pressed kisses along his jaw and down his throat. 

He was distracted by her kisses, her fingers stroking over his chest. “You gave me a hickey,” she murmured and the words didn't register at first. Then he felt her teeth sink into the flesh where his shoulder met his neck. Not hard, but enough to leave a mark. “I think it's only fair I pay you back.” The hickey he'd left had been just below her ear, and he hadn't meant to, but the sound she'd made, when he'd pressed a soft sucking kiss there, had nearly driven him wild. 

Payback. The bite mark would be low enough that no one would see it, but he grinned and slid his hand to her waist, fingers pressing into her side. Grace let out a shriek of laughter, tried to twist away, but he caught her and was relentless as he tickled her. “Maker!” she cried, back arching, laughing. Her hands grabbed at his arms, her legs curled around his waist as they ended up sideways on the bed. “I'm sorry!” she laughed, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the bite. 

Cullen's hands slid around her, one resting against her lower back, the other, he laced his fingers with hers and pressed it against the bed beside her head. She smiled up at him and reached up to stroke his cheek. “You don't play fair,” she pouted dramatically. “You absolutely deserved that.” 

“I did,” he agreed, then ducked his head to suck on that same spot again. Grace shuddered against him, moaned softly, and tangled her fingers in his hair. He lifted his head again sometime later, her eyes were closed, but she was smiling, her fingers combing through his hair.

“You made it worse, didn't you?”

“Perhaps,” he said, glancing at the mark on her neck. He shouldn't have done it, she wasn't a possession for him to mark as his. Despite that, the way she always wore her hair would hide it. “Grace,” he said quietly, feeling a pang of remorse. 

She shook her head. “Don't do that,” she told him quietly. “Don't regret it, Cullen, please.” He started to pull away, but Grace wouldn't let him. She tightened her legs around his waist and grabbed onto his hands, held him as tightly as she could.

“You're not property to be marked,” he started, still trying to pull out of her grip.

“It's a reminder to me that you're real,” she told him, he paused, on his haunches, hands laced with Grace's pressing against her thighs that held him like a vice. “All of this,” she gestured with a jerk of her chin, toward him, then back to herself. “It's unreal. You wanting me. When I left yesterday morning, I was terrified to come back, because I thought I'd imagined it all. But I looked in the mirror and saw the hickey and... I knew it wasn't my imagination.” 

Cullen gripped her hips, pulled her up to sit on his lap, her arms immediately curled around his shoulders. He kissed her, tongue delving into her mouth, stroking against hers, teeth gently nipping, sucking her lower lip into his mouth, utterly stealing her breath. He pulled back enough to meet her eyes. “I will _always_ want you, don't ever doubt that.” 

Tears stung her eyes, she pressed her forehead against his and slid one hand into his hair. “I won't,” she whispered. 

He stretched back out on the bed, keeping Grace tucked against him. “I am surprised,” he said quietly. “Your brother's haven't knocked down my door yet, what with all your shrieking earlier.” 

Grace blushed, could only imagine the new rumors there would be. She considered her brothers and was surprised too. “My brother, Caleb, to be precise,” she murmured. “Looks like someone hit him a couple of times,” she said casually. 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Does he now?”

“Know anything about that?” After all, she had told Cullen about what Caleb had said. 

“You think I would hit your brother?” he asked, his tone inquisitive.

“I think,” she said, running her hand along his arm. “You're a little on the protective side when it comes to me and my brothers.” 

“Only with your brothers?”

Her lips curved up in a smile. “Alright, you're protective.”

“I didn't hit him,” he told her, and she knew he was telling the truth. “I wanted to, he hurt you. But I know that despite that, he is still your brother and you love him, regardless of the fact that he is an idiot.” 

“You confronted him?” she asked. She imagined it was her other brothers who hit Caleb then. That meant they were all privy to her and Caleb's fight. 

“Actually he came here to confront me.” Cullen's thumb dipped under the hem of her shirt, just barely, stroking lightly against her skin. “To tell me to stay away from you, heathen Templar that I am.” 

“Hmm,” she sighed, burrowed into his chest. “Barbaric, you're my _barbaric_ former Templar, what with all that tossing me over your shoulder and carrying me away, and he did apologize, but he is an idiot. Can we just stay here all day?” she asked, knowing that they couldn't. Preparations needed to be made. They would have to make their move on the Temple of Mythal soon. 

 

At dinner that evening, Grace sat across from her brothers, she hoped, after supper, they would have a chance to talk. There were things that needed to be said. “What?” she asked Alexander, who was staring hard at her. 

“Word around Skyhold is you're pregnant.”

Grace choked on her drink, she spit it out, coughing, gasping for breath. It took several long minutes for her to regain her breath and when she did she glared at her brothers. Rowan was smirking, his head ducked down low, but Alexander and Caleb were looking at her expectantly. “Well? Are you?” Caleb asked.

“What do you think?” Grace hissed.

“Are you goin' to ha'e a baby?” Nora asked, peeking her head out from under the table. The girl had been sitting beside Rowan a moment ago, but now she scrambled onto the bench beside Grace. 

“No, sweetheart, I'm not.” 

“Oh,” she pouted. “I wan' a lil' sis'er.” 

It was Grace's turn to smirk at Rowan. “Well, you'll have to ask daddy and Cassandra for that one.” 

Rowan held up a hand, locked eyes first with Grace, then Nora. “No,” he said simply. “Behave, the both of you.” 

 

The days were hectic, full of training exercises and plans for moving on the Temple of Mythal. But the nights made it all worth it for Grace. She heard the footsteps, loud and steady as she looked over the last of the papers Josephine had wanted her to sign. Cullen crossed the room, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, before going over to stoke the fire. The few nights they'd spent in her room, they slept with the doors flung wide open. 

Cullen had mentioned having the roof over his quarters fixed, but Grace had objected. She liked the open as much as he did. Grace was staring at the papers on her desk, but she wasn't seeing them. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Cullen, stripping out of his armor and down to the lightweight tunic and trousers. 

Papers forgotten, she simply stared at him. Cullen crossed to the small couch, sat down and picked up the book he'd left beside it the night before, allowing her to finish her work. It was so domestic, she thought. They had fallen so easily into routines. Grace had never imagined that she could have happiness in her life, something that gave her joy. Part of her was waiting for the other shoe to drop. They still had to defeat Corypheus. Still a chance that despite her attempts to improve her magic, everything would backfire. 

Just a few short days and they would be one step closer to the end. Grace stood and made her way across the room to where Cullen sat. He glanced up and the book slipped from his fingers as she slid onto his lap, straddling his thighs. He made a soft sound of appreciation, his hands gliding along her thighs, hips and up her sides. She claimed his lips softly, pouring all she felt for him into the kiss. 

Cullen's fingers dipped under the back of her shirt as his lips left a trail of kisses along her throat. She pressed closer, rocking her hips faintly against his. The groan rumbled up from his chest and Grace looked down at him. “Cullen,” she murmured, touched his cheek. He leaned into the touch, eyes slipping shut. She kissed him again, then drew back, slipping from his lap. Grace stood in front of the couch, legs bracketed by Cullen's. Then she reached up and began unbuttoning her shirt, and watched Cullen's eyes grow darker with each inch of flesh revealed. “I want you, Cullen,” she told him, then bit her lip. “Please?” 

She took a step back, let the shirt fall to the floor, then held a hand out to him and hoped. Waited. Cullen stood up, one graceful movement and swept her into his arms and carried her the short distance to the bed. “Are you certain?” he asked, lowering her to her feet, but not releasing her.

“More certain than I've been about anything in my life.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very short, apologies. I'm still in the middle of moving, and there was smut that could not be denied. So I wrote a little companion piece, an interlude between this chapter and the previous one. If you're interested in some smut, you can find it here http://archiveofourown.org/works/10670004

He couldn't find her. He'd been searching everywhere and she was just gone. _No_ , he thought. _Not again. She wouldn't just leave. Not now. Not after everything._ Something had happened. That was the only explanation, though it wasn't one he favored. They had just returned to Skyhold after their journey to the Temple of Mythal. Grace had drunk from The Well of Sorrows, but she'd insisted she was fine. 

Only now he couldn't find her and no one had seen her. He'd check with Blackwall, or rather, Thom Rainier, again. Grace was fond of the man, despite his lies and betrayals. Blackwall had always had Grace's back, from the beginning, Cullen couldn't deny that. He was loyal to Grace above all else. 

He jogged along the ramparts toward the stables. Fear and dread curled around his throat made it hard to breathe as he ran down the stairs. He saw Rowan, Iron Bull, and Dorian standing with their backs to him. “Someone needs to find Cullen,” Dorian said, accented voice quiet. 

“He's already here,” Cole said and Cullen saw him as the others turned. 

Then he saw Grace. She was sitting on a hay bale, her back to him. The relief nearly knocked him off his feet, but something was wrong. It had to be. “Grace,” he said, still walking at a quick pace toward her. He didn't look at the faces of her companions and she didn't reply. The fear had swelled inside him again. “Grace,” he repeated, crouching down in front of her. “Love, are you-” 

Grace blinked slowly, inclined her head. “Commander Cullen,” she said, her voice toneless. 

“No,” he breathed, hands coming up to grip her face, to shove the hair back from her forehead. Her forehead was emblazoned with the mark of the Tranquil. 

“The Templars explained that it was for the best. My magic was too often uncontrollable. The Rite of Tranquility should have been performed years ago.”

“No, this is wrong. This isn't-” his breath hitched, she winced as his grip tightened. “By the Maker, Grace.” They would pay. “How did this happen? Who-” 

“Commander,” she said, “You must agree, it is power a mage never should be allowed to have. You know better than anyone.” 

“Not like this, never like this.” Tears were rolling unchecked down his face as he slid his arms around her waist. “I'm sorry, Grace. I'm so sorry. I'll fix it, somehow. I'll fix it.” They had discovered there were ways to reverse the Rite. He'd speak with Cassandra. 

“Shh,” Grace crooned. “Cullen, I'm right here, it's okay. I'm right here.” Her fingers were gentle in his hair. Stroking and soothing.

Cullen lifted his head and realized they were in a tent. The wind whistled through the trees and her bare legs were tangled with his. He blinked several times, trying to focus. “Grace?” he rasped.

“You were having a nightmare,” she told him softly. 

He stared at her, with wide eyes. She was propped up on her elbow beside him, wearing his shirt, the collar slipping off her shoulder, revealing smooth skin he'd kissed trails over just a few hours earlier. Her hair was tangled and falling into her face. Cullen reached up, pushed it back from her forehead, waited for his eyes to focus. No mark. 

“Cullen?” Grace reached up, laid her hand over his. “What's wrong?” He sat up and dragged her into his lap, holding her tightly, his hand kept going to her forehead, smoothing her hair back. “Cullen,” she whispered, shifting onto her knees so she could press closer to him, could kiss him. “It was only a dream,” she told him, her hands stroking his face. 

Cullen shook his head, held her face between his hands. His eyes searching her face. There was no mark. It was still her. Her face and throat still bore the faint irritation from his stubble. He met her eyes and they were full of emotion. Concern so evident. 

“Cullen, love, it's alright. Whatever it was, it's alright.” 

_Love,_ he thought. The endearment made his heart swell in his chest. “It isn't alright,” he whispered. “It never would be.” He kissed her and she slid her hand into his hair, returning the kiss sweetly. 

“Tell me,” she murmured against his mouth, eyes heavy as she pressed her body closer to his. “Tell me what happened.” Reaching up, Cullen stroked his thumb over her forehead again and Grace finally understood. “Oh, Cullen,” she whispered. “Did I...?” Yes, she'd considered it before, but that was when she'd had nothing. But now she had everything. Grace shook her head.

“I will never allow anyone to do such a thing to you. Never again will you have to be fearful-” he cut off when he saw the tears shining in her eyes. “Grace.” 

She shook her head, cupped his face between her hands and pressed her forehead to his. “I will never go down without a fight. You have given me too much to live for. You gave me back my family, you gave me you. I have everything to live for, everything worth fighting for.” 

Cullen let his hand slide up to cup the side of her neck, thumb brushing against her jaw, fingers slipping into her hair. “The thought of anything happening to you-” 

“I love you,” she breathed. Cullen blinked, stared at her, and felt the fear and horror from his dream begin to ebb away. Grace made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, then pressed her forehead to his. “Oh Cullen, I am so in love with you.” 

In the next moment, Cullen had her on her back, tucked under him, her legs around his waist. “You love me?” he said, voice full of wonder.

“Of course, I do.” She tugged his head down, kissed him firmly, then let her hand slide down his chest to rest over his heart. “You own my heart, Cullen. Every piece of it is yours.”

He was full of wonder at the very idea. She loved him and he wasn't sure he could even put into words what he felt for her. Love was not a strong enough word. He adored her, cherished her, wanted to spend the rest of his life making her smile. The idea of a future, a life full of family with her had his chest aching with longing. 

Once they had defeated Corypheus, they could be done with the Inquisition, she would be safe. He slid his hand down to her hip, dipping beneath the shirt she wore. He pushed it up and she helped him tug it over her head before she curled her arms around him again, tugged him down for a kiss. They were quiet, no need to alert the entire camp to their midnight tryst. Later, as Cullen held her against his chest, her breathing slow and even as she drifted off to sleep, he couldn't help but think, if she were pregnant there is no way she would risk going up against Corypheus, would she?


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient! Sorry, it took so very long! I moved and then have been stuck in limbo, with my brain, my job, and my new apartment. I had the part mostly written in my head but hadn't been able to write it out.

Cullen enjoyed watching Grace, did so every chance he got. When she spared with Iron Bull or Cassandra -their relationship finally beginning to warm- and when she practiced her magic with Dorian and Solas. He was particularly fond of watching her prepare for bed at night. Currently, he was watching her in the War Room. She stood alone, staring down at the map, worrying the coin he'd gifted her between her fingers. The end of was coming. The final battle. He was terrified. 

Grace heard a sound, glanced up and gave Cullen a weary smile. “You're tired,” he said, crossing the room to stand beside her. “You were up before the sun this morning.” And gone before he'd woken. 

She didn't want to admit it, the whispers, the voices from the well had roused her, made it impossible to fall back to sleep. Grace wasn't sure what had possessed her to drink from the Well of Sorrows. Anyone else would have been a better option, Morrigan in particular. But for some reason, Grace had insisted it be her. After all, hadn't she been the one to figure out the puzzles to gain access to the Temple? _Without Morrigan's help._ She'd get used to the whispers in her head. 

She rubbed her temple, cursed quietly because she couldn't understand what they were saying. Grace turned and sat on the edge of the table. “The voices?” Cullen asked, reaching out to curl his hand around hers. 

Grace nodded, looked down at their hands, heard Cullen make a quiet noise. He worried. “It's fine,” she told him. “I'll get used to it.” He gave her a disbelieving look, and she tugged him to stand between her legs. “I love you,” she murmured, saw his features soften.

Cullen dropped his hands down to her thighs and lifted her to sit. Immediately she hooked her legs around his thighs and let her hands rest on his sides. “You know,” she said, leaning in to kiss his throat. “I've fantasized about you making love to me on this table more than once,” she flicked her tongue out against his throat.

He coughed, and despite his flushed cheeks, took her face between his hands and met her eyes. “You're trying to distract me,” he scowled at her.

“Are you saying you don't want to give it a try? We already know your desk-” he cut her off with a kiss that stole her breath and melted her bones. 

“Maker, you do try my patients,” he said when he finally broke the kiss. 

Grace finally relented. “I'm scared, Cullen. But I made the choice and there is no going back now. We can only keep moving forward. Do what we can to stop Corypheus, no matter what it takes.” 

Pressing his forehead against hers, he snaked his arms around her, held her against his chest. “I love you, Grace Trevelyan.” She smiled. Hearing those words from him, knowing there was no lie, filled her with a joy that threatened to cause her chest to explode. “We haven't discussed the future,” he said quietly, drawing back to look at her properly. “After you defeat Corypheus because you will defeat him, what do you imagine- where will you go? What will you do?” he cut himself off, the words getting lodged in his brain.

“Are you asking if I'll leave the Inquisition? Go with my brothers?” He opened his mouth, closed it again and gave a short nod. “You silly man, you're stuck with me. You told me you loved me and I adore you. Do you really believe I would just leave this? Leave you?”

“Your family-” 

“Can get along without me. But I'm not so certain I could survive without you.” She curled her fingers in the front of his collar, tugged his head down to a kiss. 

 

It was late in the afternoon when Grace was walking across the ramparts towards Cullen's office when she saw a crowd had formed not far from the stables and in the center were two people fighting. “Maker,” she muttered, wondering what had happened and why no one was stopping it. She jogged to the stairs and stopped beside Dorian who was standing there with Bull, watching the scene below. “What is going on and why hasn't anyone stopped it?” Both men looked almost guilty. Grace looked back down and she felt the breath leave her lungs. The two bloodied, shirtless men dancing around each other, were none other than Rowan and Cullen. 

She flew down the stairs, pushed her way through the crowd and stood at the edge of the ring of people. Cullen saw her first, he dropped his arms at the same moment that Rowan threw his next punch, knocking Cullen back a step. The crowd dispersed and both men came to stand in front of her. Rowan opened his mouth, but Cullen shot him a look that had him snapping it closed again. “Maker,” she whispered. “Is this what it will always be like?”

“Grace,” Cullen started, but she held up her hand.

“No, don't.” Resigned she turned and walked away. A moment later Cassandra appeared, arms over her chest, disapproval was written all over her face as she stared at the two bleeding men. 

Rowan gave her his most charming smile. “Care to bandage my wounds, darling?” 

She raised a brow. “I was thinking I might add a few more injuries, actually. Honestly, what were you thinking? Where is Nora?”

Rowan reached up and scratched the back of his head. “She's with Ilona,” he said, hunching his shoulders.

At least there was that, Cassandra thought. Ilona was a woman who had taken to given the children lessons in the garden. “Go and get yourself cleaned up, then maybe I will consider tracking down some healing salve for that cut. But it would serve you right to suffer.” The two left and Cullen returned to his own quarters to clean up. He wanted to seek out Grace, to speak with her and explain. 

 

It was late, everyone had retired to bed, and Cullen wasn't there in her room with her. She'd been preparing for bed, waiting, hoping he'd show up. But he hadn't. Now she was sitting on her bed, with her boots on, still clad in the long nightgown and robe Josie had given her for her birthday several weeks ago. If he wasn't coming, she'd go find him. 

Grace hadn't seen either her brother or Cullen since she'd interrupted their fight in the courtyard. She drew in a deep breath and pushed up to her feet. “Alright,” she muttered, ready to go looking for him. Then she heard the door downstairs creak ever so quietly. She stood on the far side of the bed as Cullen finally came into view. 

Cullen froze and for long moments they just looked at each other. “It is about damn time,” Grace finally said. “I was about to go looking for you.” 

Relief seemed to cross his features as he began to cross the room toward her. “Dressed like that?” he asked, inclining his head. 

Grace tugged the front of her robe slightly more secure and nodded. “Just like this.”

The corner of his mouth turned up when he spotted her knee high boots, worn and dusty, a stark contrast against the pristine, cream-colored nightgown. He nudged her back to sit on the edge of the bed and went down to crouch before her. He kept his head lowered, intent on his work of carefully unlacing each boot. “I wasn't sure if you would want me here, after...” he trailed off. When Grace didn't reply he peeked up at her. 

“Silly man,” she told him, cupping his jaw. “I will always want you here, no matter what. No matter how many fights you get into with my brothers, or with me for that matter.” 

“Rowan and I weren't truly fighting,” he told her, tugging off her boots and setting them at the foot of the bed. “We were pulling our punches.” 

Grace made a quiet sound and touched the cut beside his eye. “You may have been, but my brother was not.” She lightly pushed at his shoulder. “Come on, let me take care of that for you, I have a salve that-” 

“No,” Cullen caught her hands between his, pressed his lips to the back of her knuckles. “It's fine, Grace. Leave it be. There was a reason your brother and I were sparring in the courtyard today.” 

She shook her head. “It doesn't matter. I wish,” her voice broke. “Maker, I wish that you could all just get along. I know that it will never happen. But,” she sighed. “I can't choose between you. I won't. They are my family, my brothers, and I love them. But I am in love with you and I won't let you go.” 

He smiled at her, the soft one that crinkled the corners of his eyes, that made her heart melt. “I am glad to hear that,” he told her, then reached into the pocket of his trousers. “Gives me more hope for this,” he said and withdrew a small wooden box. 

Grace's brow furrowed as she stared at it. Cullen didn't open it, just held it before her. Slowly she reached out and unfastened the small latch and lifted the lid. A ring sat inside. A thin and delicate band of pale gold, in the center a small iridescent pearl. Her breath was lodged in her throat, along with her voice. 

“I told your brother I was planning to propose to you, that, Maker willing, you'd agree to be my wife. The fight wasn't malicious. He wants you to be happy, but he's having a hard time with the idea of letting you go.” Grace reached out and lightly traced her finger over the pearl. “I am utterly besotted with you, Grace. I cannot even, nor do I want to, imagine my life, my future, without you in it. Will you marry me?” 

A tear rolled down Grace's cheek. She'd spent so long without even dreaming of a future, and now this man was asking to have one with her. “Ask me again,” she whispered, but then quickly shook her head when Cullen opened his mouth. “No, I mean,” she closed the box and latched it again. “After. After all of this is done, and Corypheus is gone and the world is safe. Ask me then.” 

Cullen's brow drew together and he tucked the ring back away in his pocket before he held Grace's hands again. “Grace.”

“Cullen, if I die-”

“You are not going to die,” he said vehemently. “Do you hear me, I forbid it.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up. “I'll do my best.” Grace cupped his face between her hands and pressed her forehead against his. “I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I won't promise it, I won't wear that ring until this is finished.” She tugged him up onto the bed with her. 

 

Hours later, Cullen's head was pillowed against Grace's stomach, while she ran her fingers through his hair. He was stroking his fingers in absent patterns over her hip. She wondered what it would be like in five years, in ten. Spending her life with this man. A home all their own. Her hand paused and she looked down at the top of his head. “Cullen?”

“Hmm?” He lifted his head, his chin resting on her stomach. He looked drowsy and content. Just how she felt. 

“Did you...” she trailed off, unsure, tears suddenly filling her eyes.

“What is it, Grace?” He pushed up onto his elbows, concern written across his features. 

“Children?” she managed to choke out past the lump forming in her throat. “Do you want them?”

“I-” he swallowed hard. “Do you?”

“I asked you first.” 

He ducked his head, resting his forehead against her bare stomach, before lifting his head to meet her gaze again. “Yes, Grace, I would love to have a family with you. Children and dogs and-” he broke off, moved up to sit against the headboard, where he gathered her into his arms. “You're crying. Maker,” he breathed out and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Don't cry, Grace. Please. If you don't, if we don't have children, it's fine. You are the most important part of the future I want.” 

“I guess I hadn't imagined,” she told him softly, sniffling quietly. “Being able to have that kind of future. A mage in the circle isn't allowed anything like that. I want children, Cullen. I want to have your children.” 

Cupping her chin, he brushed his mouth over hers. “Later,” he told her. “After. The idea of something happening to you is unbearable, but if you were with child-” he broke off and Grace kissed him.

“After,” she agreed.


	26. THE END

Cullen would never get used to watching Grace walk into danger. He stood on the ground, staring in horror as the section of earth had ripped from the ground and raised up into the sky. He'd rushed to help the soldiers tossed away like rag dolls. Helped the wounded, comforted the dying, all the while silently praying that Grace would be alright. 

_Don't you dare die, Grace_ , he silently commanded. Time stretched on for what seemed like hours, days, years. He watched what he could of the dragons battling around the floating island. 

“She'll be fine,” Alexander said as her brothers all came up to flank him, heads tipped back to watch the sky. 

“Of course she will,” Caleb chimed in. Light exploded in the sky. The island landed with a jarring crash to the ground. Long moments passed before anyone reacted. There was no sign of movement. Finally, they saw them. Cassandra helping a limping Thom, Varric, and Dorian bringing up the rear. No Grace. Cullen's heart skipped a beat. He pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered, then he saw her. She was covered in dirt and blood. She straightened when she spotted him, then she all but flew into his arms.

Cullen caught her, lifting her, spinning her. Her legs went around his waist and she kissed him, hard, for everyone to see. Cheers went up in celebration that Corypheus was finally defeated. “Ask me,” she mumbled against his mouth. “Ask me now.” 

One hand tangled in her hair, the other splayed over her lower back. “Marry me,” he breathed into the kiss.

“Yes,” she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Yes, yes, yes.” 

 

Hours later, Grace sat in the tub of hot water, staring at the ring Cullen had slipped onto her left hand. _It's over_ , she thought. There were still a handful of fade rifts that needed to be closed, a few things to take care of. But they were done. Corypheus was defeated. Solas had left, slipped away when no one was looking and Grace hoped that he found what he was looking for.

“It won't be long until Josephine is banging on the door, demanding you come down to join the party,” Cullen said, lips brushing against the back of her neck.

“Hmm,” she murmured, shifted and leaned back into his chest. They stayed like that for a long while longer, the water never cooling thanks to Grace's magic heating the water. “What will happen now?” she asked finally, resting her head against his shoulder and tipping her face toward his.

Cullen pressed a kiss to her temple, one hand spread over her stomach, the other taking her left hand. He looked at the ring on her finger. “You know, there is still so much good the Inquisition can do. But you don't have to fight. No more battles. You'll have to meet Mia, and my brothers. The future, Grace. Our future. Together.” 

“I like the sound of that,” Grace said with a happy sigh, before letting out a quiet laugh at the quick rap on the door downstairs. 

“Inquisitor!” Josephine's voice echoed. “This party is for you! We're celebrating your accomplishments!”

“Coming, Josie,” Grace called before reluctantly extracting herself from Cullen's arms. 

 

Six months later, Grace sat beneath a tree in the courtyard, with Nora in her lap as they watched Cullen and Rowan sparing. “Will Papa ever beat Uncle Cullen?” Nora asked.

Grace laughed softly. “Only if Cassandra keeps giving him lessons.” Cullen held a hand out to Rowan, helping him back to his feet before the two made their way over to the tree. Nora leaped into Rowan's arms and Cullen held a hand out to help Grace to her feet. 

“How is my daughter?” he asked, splaying his hand over the slight swell of Grace's belly.

“Taking after her father and preparing for battle.”

“Maker willing, our children will never have to fight,” he said resting his forehead against hers. “But if they have even a fraction of your strength, nothing will ever hold them back.”

Tears shone in Grace's eyes as she tipped her face up to his. “You know how much I love you?” she asked.

“I've heard a rumor,” he chuckled and brushed a kiss against her lips.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my story, for all the comments and kudos. 
> 
> I know it doesn't hold a candle to the other far more brilliantly written stories. But I appreciate every single one of you.
> 
> I'm sorry the story peters out so abruptly. :/


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